


Twisted And Decayed

by corruptedpov



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Asexual Sherlock, Autistic Sherlock, Childhood Memories, Fake Friends, Gen, Mycroft goes too far, Mycroft's Meddling, POV John Watson, POV Lestrade, POV Mycroft Holmes, POV Sherlock Holmes, Paternal Lestrade, Protective Lestrade, Protective Mycroft, Rough Childhoods, Self-Esteem Issues, Sherlock and John majorly fall out, Sherlock and Victor friendship, Sherlock hates himself, Sherlock's Past, Sherlock-centric, Tom Hiddleston Fancast As Victor Trevor, Tom Hiddleston as Victor Trevor, aspergers sherlock, internalized ableism, lots and lots of ablism, mentions of John's PTSD, mentions of past bullying, secrets and lies, set up meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 147
Words: 148,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedpov/pseuds/corruptedpov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock discovers a secret John and Mycroft have been hiding from him for years, he's left devastated. He's lost everything, and nothing will ever be the same. Old school friend Victor Trevor steps in to help him, but will Sherlock ever trust someone again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thank you for clicking on this fic!  
> A quick word of warning about this fic, if you are triggered by ableism, specifically ableism aimed towards people with Aspergers/Autism/anything along those lines, I would not recommend you read this. There's a huge amount of ableism involved, including the belief that those with such conditions cannot make friends by themselves/do not know what is best for themselves.  
> I personally do not hold those beliefs in the slightest, and I've based Sherlock's Asperger's on my own experiences. This does not reflect everybody with Aspergers. The same goes for the asexuality too.  
> The title of this fic comes from the McFly song Corrupted.

Prologue:

The day that John left, I didn't do anything to stop him. I didn't do anything at all, in fact. I just... watched him pack up and leave.

His books went with him. As did his laptop. And his clothes. John’s gun left with him, too. Everything went. Just like that, all of it gone. It didn't feel real, even as I heard him do it, had been present for the conversation. John was leaving, John was truly leaving. I was never going to see him again after this, when he left, that was it, he wasn't coming back.

Yet I still didn't stop him. Didn’t argue, didn't put up a hint of a fight to get him to stay. I didn't phone anybody to get them round to stop him. I had frozen, inside and outside, until every single thing of John’s vacated 221b Baker Street. Then, I had somehow slid down the wall and stayed there. The day’s events not even properly sinking in yet. They didn't really sink in for days. I was still in shock at it all.

I felt like I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't do anything really. Everything was in question now, nothing made sense anymore. I was alone again, and it was so, _so_ hard to process.

I hadn’t even fought for him. even when John tried to fight me on this. I didn't even fight back. I stayed silent, emotionally numb, frozen to my spot and unable to wrap my head around what had just happened.

I had good reason not to fight, though, good reason to not argue to make John stay, or make anyone come over to make him stop packing up his things.

I hadn’t argued, or done anything of the sort, because I was the one who kicked John out.


	2. Chapter 2

1 Sherlock's POV                                                                                                                                       

The flat was silent for days, the world outside continuing on like nothing had changed. But everything had changed, my entire existence had changed, all through one confession, one I had _never_ thought I’d hear.

**_\--_ **

**_“You can’t be serious? You think I’m working for him now?”_ **

**_“Well how else do you explain all this then? There’s evidence John, so much bloody evidence and you can’t deny it!”_ **

\--

Why did I have to find out? Why did John have to do that, why did, why did _he_ have to stick his nose in and do this to me?

I tried to delete it all from my Mind Palace, the conversation, the whole situation, damn it I even tried to delete _John_ entirely, but he wouldn’t go. None of it would leave, it was all still in there, _screaming_ about how much of my life had been a lie.

My best friend was a lie. How hadn’t I seen that? How had I... how had I been so damn _stupid_ as to believe that I was capable of having friends? I’d never managed it before, and suddenly gaining one who understood me and didn't try to change who I was, who wasn't disgusted by the experiments, who didn't mind my bad social skills? God I hadn’t even put it together, how had I _not_ put it together?

“Sherlock, the mess this room is in? What did you do?” Mrs Hudson bustled in, tone motherly, “Wait a minute, where are John’s things? I heard shouting the other day...”

“He left.” I said simply. It hurt, deep inside, to admit it out loud.

“Oh, visiting his sister for the weekend then?” Mrs Hudson asked, starting to put some things back in order.

“Permanently.” I answered, monosyllabic. It was... it was hard to say it, John had been gone for three days, and yet it still hadn’t sunk in yet.

He’d been calling, and texting. I hadn’t answered. He hadn’t come round, though, which was a Godsend, I didn't know if I’d have been able to kick him back out again.

**_\--_ **

**_“How could you do this to me?! I thought we were friends!”_ **

**_“I am your friend!”_ **

**_“Then why are you working for Mycroft?!”_ **

\--

“What? Sherlock what happened?” Mrs Hudson rushed over to me.

“I discovered he was working for Mycroft. Spying on me mostly likely. Mycroft planted him into my life, in exchange for the adrenaline and war zone he desperately needs.” I had figured it out, shouldn’t have been looking really, but, one must go and find stimulation when bored, and deal with the consequences.

“You’re not, though, I checked. I found you through a case, which _I_ found, and you have owned 221 for twenty years. Mycroft could have faked the records, but you mentioned the flat while we were in Florida, so I doubt that this was set up that far in advance.” I continued, shutting down all the emotional responses I could be having right now. I didn't need them, didn't need any of them. Who needed emotions when your brother manufactured your friends?

“Oh Sherlock, are, are you sure you got this right? You, you sometimes jump to conclusions, this could be one of those times.” Mrs Hudson sounded horrified.

“I’m certain of my conclusions. All the evidence is there when you look for it. the records were not that hard to find once I got started. Mycroft is getting sloppy in his old age.” I was sure of it all, I had seen all that evidence myself. “Besides, John admitted to it too.”

**_\--_ **

**_“Alright, fine! I was working for your brother! He promised me a new, adventurous life in exchange for befriending you! But there was no payment, and I didn't tell him anything about what we were doing from day to day! he just match made with us!”_ **

**_“You want me to believe that?! really, you want me to believe that you weren’t telling him_ everything _that goes on inside this flat, after all those secretive little chats you had in his car? After all those phone calls?”_**

\--

“He what? That, that... I had no words! I cannot believe that John would do such a thing! He was... he seemed like such a nice human being!” Mrs Hudson sounded as shocked as I had original felt. The emotions were in the process of being shut down. I had no use for feeling shocked, or outraged, or anything of the sort. Not anymore.

Shutting down the emotions would stop this happening again too. No emotions, not need to get attached, no chance of something like _this_ happening again.

“That was part of the plan. Seem unassuming, have everyone like him, become the perfect spy. Nobody suspects anything from the normal GP, even when he’s hanging around someone like me.” I hadn’t even suspected a thing, and I suspected _everyone._ I had gotten slack over the years, I shouldn’t have. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you Sherlock, and don't you dare think otherwise.” Mrs Hudson gripped my arm tight.

“Well clearly something is wrong, otherwise Mycroft wouldn’t feel the need to _buy me friends._ ”I hissed, yanking my arm away and storming into my room.

**_\--_ **

**_“Get out!”_ **

**_“What?”_ **

**_“I said, get out. I don't want to have you anywhere near me right now.”_ **

**_“Sherlock we need to talk-”_ **

**_“There’s nothing to say. Now get out before I force you out.”_ **

**_“But-”_ **

**_“Tell my brother that he wins when you see him next. And that if I ever see either of you again, there will be hell to pay.”_ **


	3. Chapter 3

2 Sherlock's POV

My phone kept on ringing. Texts and calls flooding in at all hours. I never answered the calls, or replied to the texts. John wasn't convincing me to talk to him about this, and Lestrade wasn't going to take me down to the Yard to talk about it either. I wasn't going to talk to either of them, or anybody for that matter. No doubt Mycroft had found out that I knew about his plan, and was trying to bring all of my associates in to convince me of John’s friendship.

I didn't want to hear their petty arguments for why John did what he did, or hear how it had all changed once he got to know me, that he actually _cared_ or something. I wasn't going to let them insult my intelligence by allowing them to lie to me anymore. I was done, completely and utterly _done_ with him. I would be fine without him. I had been fine before, I would continue to be fine now, too.  

I buried my phone in a draw, swept the entire building for Mycroft’s bugs, destroyed every one that I found, and set about getting some cases from the blog. It was what I was doing before I thought I had friends, and I was going to continue like none of this had happened. Because I didn't need _friends,_ I just needed distractions. And Scotland Yard was a no go area right now, so I needed distractions from other areas. The blog would provide cases to stimulate my brain, and that was _all_ that I needed right now.  

Or so I thought, it was harder to keep occupied than first thought. The blog was giving out cases I could solve before finishing the email, and none of them really had anything to do with murder, or anything _fun._ It was all stolen jewellery and ‘is my husband cheating on me?’ rubbish. Boring. Utterly boring. Why wasn't anybody being _interesting?_ Or was Scotland Yard the only place providing interesting cases nowadays?

Not that I was going to go in and beg for a case, though. No damn _way._ They would have to come begging to _me_ if they wanted my help. Even if Lestrade did come begging, I didn't think I’d help him anyway. He’d probably want to talk about _John,_ and then it would get around the rest of the team, and I’d never hear the end of it. The _freak_ got his friends _hired_ for him by his dickhead big brother, what more proof would they need that I wasn't normal in the slightest? It was best to avoid them. At least for a while, until everything blew over and everyone forgot that John existed. If they could.

Well, I was going to do all of this, but then Lestrade decided to show up at my door.  Mrs Hudson tried to keep him out, but he managed to barge his way in and up the stairs.

“What do you want?” I glared at him, not wanting him here at all. If he was going to talk about John, I wasn't going to stick around to hear it.  

“Sherlock I’ve been calling you for days! There’s been a triple homicide and we can’t make heads or tails of it, haven’t you got my texts?” Lestrade looked harried, like he hadn’t slept in days. Good.

“Nope.” Monosyllabic words would work again today, hopefully.

“What? Why not? You always have your phone... where’s John?” Lestrade seemed to take note of the state of the flat.

“Gone, now get out.” I continued typing away on my laptop, see if I cared what he thought.

“What? Sherlock, if this is one of your moods-” I didn't let him finish the sentence.

“No this is not one of _my moods_ or anything of the sort. I’m not available to work right now; can’t you see that I’m busy? Now go away, find somebody else.” I wasn't going out with him, no way. There probably wasn't even a damn murder, who knew what my brother was up to right now?

Lestrade always went running whenever Mycroft called; always playing the role of my _handler,_ ready to reign me in when it was needed. He was probably here again to either make sure I wasn't going off the rails, or to convince me that John was really a good guy, that this is all a mistake, I’d read the information wrong.

Well I wasn't going, no way was I going. I wasn't going to let him insult my intelligence or anything else further.

“Sherlock, has something happened?” Lestrade asked, sounding concerned.

“Like you wouldn’t know, didn't dearest big brother Mycroft call you in for this? Don’t you know all the sordid little details, and have now come round to convince me of my friend’s innocence?” I sneered, hating him right now. Hating that he was under Mycroft’s thumb too, hating that he was probably getting paid to act as my handler, hating _all_ of it.

“What details? Sherlock I don't have a clue what you’re on about!” Lestrade paused, “You haven’t taken anything recently, have you?”

“Oh for God’s sake, I’m not high! I haven’t taken anything in _years,_ as you full well know! Now stop acting like you don't know what’s going on here and get out! I don't want to talk to you!” I shouted, so _angry_ with him. Why couldn't he just ask what he actually wanted to ask and bloody _get on with it?_ Why did he have to act like he was a good guy, like he was actually in my corner?! Why couldn't he just stop lying to me?

Why couldn't everybody just stop lying to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and the comments, it means a lot! This fic has been giving me trouble for a while, hearing what you guys think of it really helps spur me on to write more!


	4. Chapter 4

3 Mycroft's POV

“What the hell did you do?!” Detective Inspector Lestrade demanded the second I picked up the phone.

“And a good afternoon to you too Detective Inspector.” I greeted, understanding exactly what he was talking about, but wanting to delay it. It had been a rough few days.

“I mean it Mycroft, what the _hell_ did you do to Sherlock? John’s gone; he’s refusing cases and seems to think that you’ve told me exactly what is going on, which you haven’t. So what the _hell_ did you do?” the inspector was sounding _very_ angry, not that I blamed him. But in the end, my plan _had_ been for the greater good, it wasn't my fault that Sherlock found out. If I had had my way, he would have lived on in blissful ignorance for the rest of his life. But, as always, Sherlock liked to throw curve balls.

“A plan went wrong, and Sherlock has been forced to feel the brunt of it.” I answered, glad that this wasn't face to face. I could imagine the detective would have no qualms about actually hitting me, even if he wasn't that type of person usually. He cared so much for Sherlock, had become an adoptive father figure to him in a lot of ways really, I should have left their arrangement as it was, and not interfered by adding more people into the mix.

I’d just wanted Sherlock to be happy, that was all. I had just been trying to make him happy, and give him a sense of normal life.

“John’s not dead, is he?” Lestrade asked after a pause.

“No, John is not dead. He is very much alive and well. He has... _departed_ from Sherlock’s company, at Sherlock’s request.” I sighed, looking down at my current notes on John’s whereabouts. Staying at his sister’s, looking for new accommodation, and a new therapist.

“What?! But Sherlock wouldn’t ever force John to leave... you had something to do with this, didn't you?” Lestrade really, really did not sound pleased. Here it comes...

“I may have had a hand in this situation, yes. But it was purely done in the best interests of both Sherlock and John.” I hated having to explain, but I had no other choice. Lestrade had to know, so he could somehow help Sherlock through this. I would not be welcome anywhere near my brother, possibly ever again, and if I tried, I would only make him worse.

I would have usually pushed John into Sherlock’s path, to stop danger nights and whatever else, but now that was not an option at all. I had three lines of defence now, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and Molly. And Lestrade was my best option.

“Mycroft, stop being cryptic and tell me just _what_ you did, or so help me God-” I cut him off.

“I facilitated Sherlock and John’s meeting, essentially hiring John to be Sherlock’s flatmate and work colleague, in an attempt to give Sherlock some normalcy in his life, as well as someone to look after him.” I admitted. John had been a perfect candidate; he was addicted to adrenaline, had seen previous wars and had a good aim with a gun. He was a doctor and a killer with a strong moral compass, something that would intrigue Sherlock and keep him occupied. And he was a _doctor,_ who would be able to help him look after himself, patch him up when it was needed, and possibly keep an eye on his condition.

More importantly, he had been desperate for something that wasn't the four walls of his bedsit, and relatively easy to persuade into this plan. He’d refused payment, though, always refused any sort of payment. I suspected it was because he had grown to enjoy Sherlock’s company, and had actually become his friend, but even from the beginning, before he met Sherlock, he hadn’t asked for payment. Had said that that would have been too much of a betrayal.

That was the thing about John, he was loyal, even when he was being hired to work with someone who had no idea it was all a plan.

“You... You did _what?_ My God, Mycroft are you insane?! Has all that power gone to your head?! You _hired_ John to be Sherlock’s friend?! Are you... oh my God do you have any fucking clue what you have done to him? This could send him right back to the drug dens, you do realise that, don't you? You’ve probably just signed his bloody death warrant! You are insane!” Lestrade went off, ranting and raving at me.

“I had no other choice. We both know that even without the drug addition, Sherlock would have been _dead_ within five years if there hadn’t been an intervention. I calculated that finding a friend would increase his life span and his mental health.” I had worked tirelessly on it, working out all the variables, calculating the perfect person for Sherlock, everything. And it had _worked,_ Sherlock’s life span had doubled under John’s care, something I thought was completely worth the risk of him finding out about this plan.

“That doesn’t mean that you can hire him some friends! Jesus Christ, you... I... I can’t even talk to you right now. You’ve just probably screwed Sherlock over entirely, and now I’ve got to pick up the pieces. You better _pray_ he makes it through this, because if you haven’t, you’ve just signed Sherlock’s death warrant.” Lestrade hung up. As if I didn't already know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos! What do you think of Mycroft's plan?


	5. Chapter 5

4 Sherlock's POV

“Your brother is a complete and utter dickhead.” Lestrade came storming back into the room.

“Congratulations for stating the obvious. I thought I told you to bugger off?” I _really_ didn't want him here, even if he was insulting my bastard brother.

“Yeah, well I figured you need a distraction, and I’ve got one in the form of a triple homicide, so are you coming?” Lestrade pointed at the door, looking torn. He wasn't that good of an actor, and judging by his reaction, he was _not_ pleased with my brother’s antics. Good.

“Mention one word of what’s been happening here to _anybody_ and I’ll never help you again.” I threatened, because I was _not_ going to be ridiculed and mocked further than I already was. It was bad enough I had been unwittingly mocked for the past two years, I wasn't about to be mocked for my mistake by every person at Scotland Yard.

“I won’t breathe a word.” Lestrade promised.

“Fine, I’ll be along in a cab.” I got up, grabbing my coat on the way out.

“Thank you,” Lestrade smiled, “But after this case is over, or even during it, if you want to go home... or talk about it I guess, I’m here.” He grabbed my arm to make me listen.

“I’m _fine._ Now tell me about the murder.” I didn't want to hear platitudes, or anything of the sort. Comforting words would mean nothing, they never had done. All I needed was the distraction of the case, and for nobody to mention _anything_ about John, or Mycroft, or _anything_ like that.

The cab ride was quick, but lonely. I wasn't used to being by myself on the way to crime scenes anymore; John was usually by my side. I used to tell him the details of the case on the way, show any photos I had to him, make sure he had his gun if I thought it necessary. Now I was staring out of a window, the gaping hole of space next to me screaming out, distracting me from thoughts to do with the case.

Getting out of the cab, I had to be reminded by the driver to pay him. Usually John did the paying.

This all felt wrong without him here, and even though I knew of his deception, I couldn't help but feel like he still should have been here. That he was _missing_ from this. He was supposed to be here after all. He was _always_ by my side; there was _always_ the two of us. Now we were back down to one again, just me. Always, _always_ just me.

“Ah Freak, no John today? He finally decided to take my advice and leave?” Donovan greeted me, I held back a wince.

“He’s on holiday.” I lied, ducking under the tape and leaving her to do... whatever it was she did.

“Right this way Sherlock.” Lestrade lead me into an alleyway, one body lying on the floor, beaten and bloodied.

“I thought you said that this was a _triple_ homicide? Have your officers forgotten how to count now?” I raised an eyebrow, expecting to hear a quiet warning of ‘Sherlock’ next to me. Nothing.

“No, there were three bodies. I mean, one in this exact same spot every day for the past three days. The killer seems to be dropping the bodies from the roof top, but we can’t seem to catch them in the act. They keep on disappearing.” Lestrade explained, interesting.

Looking over the evidence, I deduced that the killer was probably one of the people living in the building, probably top floor, too. They were waiting until nightfall before dragging the bodies out of their apartment, up the short flight of stairs and onto the roof at which point they threw the body over, raced back downstairs again, and hid in their apartment.

I explained all of this to Lestrade, expecting a comment of ‘fantastic’ or ‘amazing’ from John. Still nothing. Silent in fact. That gaping hole felt like it was getting bigger.

“Now if you’re quite done with being incompetent, I’m going home and finding a case _worthy_ of my time. Next time you think you have a case for me, try looking at the evidence and using your brain before you decide that I’m needed. Come on John.” I turned round and stalked away, wincing when I realised my mistake. I’d called for John, and John _wasn't here._ Because he _wasn't coming back._ Because he was a _fake._ God how could I have been stupid enough to forget that?

It didn't stop there; I kept on forgetting that John wasn't with me anymore. Every time I turned round to talk to him, he _wasn't there,_ even when it felt like he was. I was so used to him being right by my side, that I forgot that he wasn't, even after that revelation. So many times I turned round to look for his reaction to whatever I had said, or for him to hand me my phone, or something else, only to find the flat empty. Still only me living in it. Back to how it used to be, before John arrived in my life.

It _hurt_ to think about, hurt to rediscover at least once a day. I still couldn't believe that this had happened, that John had actually been a plant set by Mycroft. I’d thought he was my best friend, I’d _trusted_ him, more than anyone. I had put my life in his hands so many times, I had even considered opening up a little to him, I had counted him as my best friend. Never once did I fool myself into thinking I was his, but I had thought that he was mine, and that he wouldn’t go away anywhere. I thought that he would be the one to stay with me, through everything. I thought I had found someone to rely on, who would change everything so I wasn't alone anymore.

I didn't want to be alone anymore, had never wanted to be alone, even when I said I had. I didn't get to have _friends;_ I thought I’d had one, who at least thought of me as a friend too. Why had he lied to me? Why did John have to be fake, to only be a pawn in Mycroft’s game?

Why wasn't I allowed to have _one_ person in my life who actually liked me for me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! This fic is a bit of a struggle to write, blame the logistics of figuring out Sherlock-without-John dynamics, and the encouragement really helps!


	6. Chapter 6

5 Sherlock's POV

My phone still rang at least once an hour, telling me John had texted. I never read them, and instead deleted them on sight, not wanting to hear from him right now. Or ever, for that matter. It didn't matter that I _wanted_ to see him, that I couldn't get him out of my head. I wasn't going to cave in and read his messages, or talk to him, or anything of the sort. I wasn't, truly, I wasn't. Because I didn't want _him,_ not the real him. I wanted the him that Mycroft had hired, the man John had pretended to be, not the real person. I didn't have a clue what the real person was like.

It couldn't have all been an act, John was a terrible liar, and statistically he would have slipped up somewhere along the way. I would have seen hints of the real him. So the person John really was must have been like the personality he showed to me. But that didn't mean that he was exactly who he said he was. Who knew how much of what he said was true? How much was a fabrication by Mycroft, and how much had really happened?

He’d been in Afghanistan, had been shot in the shoulder, and had been a trained doctor. That much was true. He’d worked at the surgery, every time I had dropped by he’d been there, and he’d always come home with evidence of the surgery on him. But what about the dates he went on? Had they been a lie? What about all the times he’d stormed out in ‘anger?’ Had John actually been meeting with Mycroft, getting his orders, reporting back on my activities?

God, how much was true about John? I didn't know, didn't really want to think about figuring it out either. I could, rather easily in fact. But I didn't want to. Didn't want to know how much of our acquaintance had been faked; it was bad enough that I knew it had been faked, I didn't want to think of how much.

Sighing, I rolled over in bed; I hadn’t bothered with getting out for a while. What was the point of it? Lestrade had no cases for me, the blog was quiet, and nobody was here to drag me out. Mrs Hudson had come in a few times, but she hadn’t really had any luck with getting me out of bed. Instead, she had figured that it was best to leave me be, and had taking to cooing and hovering at random intervals. It wasn't so bad really, I didn't mind the company. Though if she didn't stop mentioning John, I thought I was going to go insane.

“He certainly won’t be allowed back into this flat, that’s for sure. I won’t let him, he’s not coming anywhere near you, not after what he’s done.” She was saying, straightening out the duvet.

“Well he hasn’t bothered to turn up, so I don't think that’s going to be an issue.” It was true, for all the texts, John hadn’t once actually bothered to come over. I wasn't sure if I was grateful for that or not.

“Well if he does, the only thing he’ll be getting is a piece of my mind. The same goes for that brother of yours, what was he thinking, doing this to you? You don't deserve this level of deceit, so you had a little trouble making friends, that shouldn’t matter! You were doing just fine.” Mrs Hudson prattled on; I _really_ didn't need to hear this.

“I suppose you know all of this already, but honestly, though, who would do such a thing? Hiring friends for someone, it just isn’t right, no matter how lonely a person is.” she continued.

“Mrs Hudson, I understand the sentiment, but can you please _stop_ talking about this? I’m not exactly in the mood.” I _really_ wasn't, I didn't want to hear a word about this anymore. I was tired of thinking about John, tired of thinking about Mycroft, tired of thinking of it all.

“Sorry, I just, I can’t believe he did it! John seemed like such a lovely person, and a perfect match for you. I guess that’s why Mycroft picked-” I cut her off.

“Stop talking about it!” I hissed at her, “Or if you insist on talking about things I am fully aware of, go talk to Lestrade, he’s far more likely to pay attention.” I turned to the side, burying my head under a pillow.

I didn't want to hear this, or any of it. I wanted, right now, to be left _alone._ I wasn't in the mood to pander to Mrs Hudson’s inane prattling on about the man I called my best friend, or to be reminded of why my best friend wasn't here anymore. What I was in the mood for was a case. A case with a decent puzzle, one that took me more than five minutes to solve. One without Anderson and Donovan there. Where I could get on with it and stop thinking about John for _five minutes._

My phone vibrated, and reaching for it, I found that the message was _again_ from John. ‘Sorry, just let me talk’ was flashing up on the screen as I unlocked it, deleting without reading the rest. The phone vibrated again. Not a message from John. From _Mycroft._

With a shout of frustration, I threw the phone across the room, feeling a sick bit of pleasure from watching it smash into pieces against the wall. Who did Mycroft think he was by _messaging_ me now? Trying to tell me what to do? Did he think he had any sort of control over me anymore, that I’d be willing to listen to a word he said? If he did, then he was sorely mistaken. That bastard could fuck right out of my life and never, _ever_ come back again. I’d had enough of him and his meddling, enough of him trying to control my life. As far as I was concerned, I had no brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you the encouragement, it means a huge amount to me!


	7. Chapter 7

6 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade came round the next day with a new case, which I threw myself into. I needed the distraction, needed to feel my brain working, racing, running at top speed and not thinking about John or Mycroft or who was a plant. Nobody else was a plant; I’d looked into it, made sure of it. Everybody but John was real, I’d found them myself, and they’d stayed out of... some reason or other. Wasn't friendship that was for sure. Mycroft wasn't one for doing things unnecessarily, so clearly he thought that I needed a _friend_ because I was incapable of making my own because of my... _problems_... so the people I called friends were not my friends. They were colleagues; I worked with them professionally, and didn't see them outside of that setting.

Unless John had invited them over, no doubt as part of a scheme to get me _socialised_ or some bullshit. Like I cared anyway, I didn't need to be socialised, I needed cases to work on and that was it. I wasn't lonely, or sad, or any of it. I didn't have emotions; they were locked away in my Mind Palace, never to get out again. I didn't need them, and if I thought I did, then I’d just remind myself of the last time I had let them out to play. _This_ had happened, I’d gotten attached, and let _sentiment_ cloud my judgement so much I missed the fact that John was a plant from my brother. I couldn't allow that to happen again, it could _never_ happen again.

So cases, they were all I needed now. Murder, mystery, a bit of mayhem, too. Chases around London streets, fights with criminals, experiments in labs. That was all I needed to survive. Not _friendship,_ not _company._ I’d survived years like this; I didn't need company now, either. Company was for other people, for _normal_ people. I wasn't a normal person, I was nowhere near normal. I was... I was insular, separate from the world. I didn't need anybody else; they only caused trouble, and messed with my mind.

And yet, nothing felt as _fun_ anymore. I was doing all the right things, and yet it wasn't as fun anymore. There was no... No _joy_ in it. My brain was occupied yes, but it just felt hollow. I didn't remember it being this hollow before. At least, it hadn’t felt _this_ bad.

Sure, I had gone days without speaking, eating, or sleeping for that matter. Gotten into some scrapes I really shouldn’t have gotten into by myself, and generally just got on with whatever I needed to do, consequences be damned. But now it was like something was missing. Something _big_ was missing. I was so used to having a voice by my side, telling me to slow down, to eat at least half a sandwich, filling the silence with inane chatter. And now that was gone, he was gone. A hole left where he used to be.

But he _wasn't coming back._ Even with all these texts and phone calls, I wasn't going back to him. I wasn't letting him back into my life. I wasn't... it was... John couldn't come back. I couldn't trust him. He had lied and lied to me, lied so much I couldn't trust that this wasn’t all scheme devised by my brother. And if I gave in and let him back in, wasn't that proving Mycroft’s point that I couldn't survive without John here? I didn't want that, didn't want to prove him, or anybody else who thought I couldn't cope, right. It wasn't... I just _couldn't_ do that. That would be admitting defeat, that he was right. I’d spent my life proving him wrong.

So I pushed through the feeling, continuing on the best way I knew how, which was basically just going through the motions of life and hoping for the best. I ignored the gaping hole that followed me around, and ignored the urge to fill it with cocaine. Doing cocaine would only prove Mycroft right, and have my cases taken from me. And I needed those cases, needed them more than anything. They were all I had, without them I literally had _nothing._

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Lestrade asked at the latest crime scene.

“Fine. Stop asking.” I glared at him, I’d told him to stop asking, or even so much as referencing this whole situation. Especially at crime scenes. Scotland Yard were getting suspicious as to John’s absence, if he kept on asking things like this, they’d work it out. I’d never hear the end of it if they did.

“I would, it’s just that... you look ill Sherlock. When was the last time you slept?” Lestrade bit at his lip, looking at least a bit sorry for continuing.

“That’s not relevant to the case.” I just wanted to talk about the damn case, could I do that? Usually nobody cared how I was, and there was no time for casual talk, we didn't _talk casually,_ that was Jo-

“Victim was lying down when the killer slit his throat.” I stopped the last thought dead in its tracks, instead explaining how I got to that conclusion.

“You’re looking for the victim’s ex; the wife was angry thanks to the fact that he’s kept all the property.” I sighed; I hated the cases about relationships gone wrong. It reminded me too much of what was happening to me right now.

“Sure about that?” Lestrade asked.

“Of course I am. Have I ever been wrong before?” I dared him to answer that.

“Erm, no. But you’re-” he started.

“Completely and utterly fine. Like I’ve told you several times already. Now _stop talking about it._ ” I hissed at him, because he was really trying my patience. I didn't need to be molly coddled, or be asked eighty times a day if I was alright, and I certainly did not need my deduction skills questioned by a man who couldn't even see that his wife was having yet another affair. Lestrade was nowhere near a font of all knowledge when it came to relationships, so he could butt right out of my situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos - just a quick warning, if I suddenly stop updating, I haven't forgotten about this fic, it's just that my laptop trackpad has stopped working. Currently I'm using a mouse but I don't know if anything else is going to stop working so I thought it best to warn you now, in case something does happen. I'm hopefully going to get it repaired next Saturday, if my usual laptop fixer is around, but I thought it best to warn you now, in case I don't get the chance later because it's all gone wrong or something. Sorry!


	8. Chapter 8

7 Sherlock's POV

Just as I told Lestrade to stop talking, Donovan and Anderson came in. Bloody hell, here we go.

“Oh stop talking about what Freak?” Donovan seemed to pick up that there was something to investigate, and it wasn't the crime at hand.

“Nothing. Now the body has been dead for-” I tried to continue.

“Still no John then? His holiday is taking a while, what’s it been, a month?” _now_ was when she decided to be observant? Really?

“Yeah, sure you didn't kill him?” Anderson sneered; I forced myself to not react. I was above this, completely above this. It was all childish taunts, stupid childish taunts, just like all the others.

“Enough you two.” Lestrade glared at them, “Carry on Sherlock.”

“The body has been dead for-” I tried again, but got cut off.

“But don't you find it _weird_ Boss? This freak has had his pet running around with him for months, now, never that far from each other, and now he’s just _gone_ for a month? Got to admit, that’s odd, especially when the remaining party gets off on murders.” Donovan really needed to _shut up._

“Don’t you have something better to do, like, I don't know, _collect evidence_ to solve this crime?” I sneered back, I needed to get them to shut up right now, but they’d been going on like this for the entire month John had been gone. Constantly hissing insults about John, suggesting that I’d killed him, or tied him up in the basement to experiment on him, or worse still, he’d broken out of some sort of Stockholm Syndrome and run away. Like I’d do any of that, or like I was the one who fooled _John,_ not the other way around.

“Oh we would be, but there may be a bigger crime at hand here, sure you don't have anything to confess?” Donovan argued, for God’s sake, someone happens to be intelligent around here and they were immediately thought to be a bloody psychopath. I was a sociopath; they needed to do their damn research.

“No, though it seems you do. A broom closet this time, really you two, try to be a little less cliché next time, it’s getting old.” I hissed at them, desperate to get them to shut up. I just wanted to deduce the crime scene get investigating, not be reminded of John.

It was bad enough that I was standing here with no back up, knowing that there was only me this time, just like it used to be. I wasn't used to this anymore, and it was deeply unsettling. John could usually back me up, or bring us back to deducing the crime scene. Hell if he was here _I wouldn’t be accused of murdering him._

“Alright, everyone behave. You two, get on with processing the scene, Sherlock; give me everything you’ve got.” Lestrade listened to me this time, all of is getting back on what we needed to be doing.

But that didn't stop them continuing on, every time I went to a crime scene, or Scotland Yard. Any time we were together, I was hit with insults and sneers. The hurtful shouts of ‘freak’ and ‘psychopath’ turned into taunts about John’s absence. I was accused of everything under the sun, and every time they acted like it was my fault that he was gone. And the more time went on, the worse it got. John was clearly not coming back, not that I wanted him to, anyway, and I couldn't explain it to anyone. I dreaded to think what Anderson and Donovan would say if they found out the truth of John’s disappearance.

Lestrade tried his best to distract me, but it did sod all. It didn't stop anybody from insulting me, or coming up with insults over my partner’s disappearance. It grated on my mind, to the point where I didn't know what to do with myself. John wasn't here to rebuke the insults, nobody would stop arguing with me, and every where I turned, I was reminded that I was _alone_ and _hated._

“Still not here? Boy, are you sure you two are still friends?” Donovan pouted spitefully.

“Did John discover that you really are a psychopath, did you push him too far?” Anderson joined in, grinning maliciously.

“Wow you two have kept on with this for months, if you kept this level of concentration up when solving actual crimes, maybe I wouldn’t have to come in and solve everything for you.” I threw back at him; I’d had _enough_ of this. Enough of this mocking, this constant reminder that John wasn't here. I’d have done anything to have him back, without me knowing what was really going on. I missed John so much; he had been such a huge part of my life. He’d made me feel like I was normal and like I wasn't a bloody _freak._ If I could just have been kept in the damn dark about how John came to be in my life I’d have been happy.

“Much happier sticking with you actually, you’d go free if it wasn't for us.” Donovan answered.

“Besides, someone has to look out for John, he may have been insane to go anywhere near you, but it doesn’t mean his murder should have ignored.” Anderson continued, the two of them looking so smug right now.

“I think you’ll find that John is very much alive and well.” At least, I thought he was anyway. Couldn't see why he wouldn’t be, he could have been ill, though...

“Then where is he? He’s certainly not here.” Donovan raised an eyebrow, looking like she’d just figured me out.

“On holiday, like I said the first time.” I said through gritted teeth.                    

“For several months, doesn’t seem very like John, does it?” Donovan pressed on, I hated her, hated her _so much._ Couldn't she just leave it alone?! Leave me alone and get on with her bloody job! I didn't deserve this level of harassment, and usually I would have ripped into her, but if I did, I feared it would make me look guiltier or something, and she’d carry on ripping into me and then this wouldn’t _stop._

“Sounds more like an excuse to me, like you’re trying to get us off your trail. Are you _sure_ John isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere? Or stuck in some dungeon, his organs being harvested for your experiments?” Anderson smirked, arms crossed, like he’d figured me out completely.

“I think I know where my flatmate is.” I was lying; I had no idea where he was. I didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or _anything._ I just knew that he was gone, he was gone and he was never coming back. It was all a lie and he was _gone._

“Phone him then, phone him and prove you didn't kill him, or torture him, or did some other psychopathic act to him.” Donovan pressed on.

“I can’t.” I wasn't ringing him back, I wasn't going to do that, he’d think I was open to conversation or something and I wasn't, I didn't want to talk to him ever again because he’d lie to me and I’d fall for it because I was so damn desperate to have _someone_ who cared I was so alone, I felt so damn alone right now and I wanted someone but I didn't want _him_ because he was a lie-

“Why not? Is he busy being _dead_?” Anderson grinned so wickedly, it made my stomach churn.

“Because he’s gone!” I shouted, making everyone in the room turn round to stare at me, “He’s gone, he, he’s gone.” I whispered, feeling weak kneed and dizzy. I had to go, get out of here, before more questions were asked.

Without thinking, I turned and ran out of the room, out of the house, out of the street. Running and running, not caring that I could hear voices calling for me, that the cameras were following my every move. I needed to get out; I needed to get _far away_ from all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos!


	9. Chapter 9

8 John's POV

Sherlock wasn't picking up his phone, damn it I just wanted to _talk_ to him and explain what happened! I couldn't do that unless he _answered_ the damn phone and agreed to talk to me! I would have gone over to Baker Street to explain myself in person, but I doubted I’d be allowed anywhere near the vicinity to my old flat, or paid attention to at all. I had to get Sherlock to agree to talk to me first, so I could explain why I did what I did, but I could only do that if he _answered his damn phone._

“I would stop while you’re ahead Doctor Watson, if Sherlock does not want to talk to you, he will refuse to talk to you.” Mycroft told me, looking through files of some sort.

“I know, but I need to talk to him, I can’t let him carry on thinking it was entirely fake.” It hadn’t been entirely fake. Yes our meeting was arranged by Mycroft, and yes at first I was just in it for the adventure, but I had grown to love being around Sherlock. I’d grown to feel genuine affection for the man, and still counted him as my friend. To me, being with Sherlock wasn't a job anymore, it was my life, and I loved every second of it. And to think I had broken his heart... I had to make it right, but I couldn't make it right unless I talked to him.

“Maybe I could phone Lestrade, see if he can talk Sherlock into listening to me.” that could work, no matter what Sherlock said, he did value Lestrade’s opinion. Maybe he’d be willing to help me...

“Not possible. Lestrade will not be answering his phone to you or me any time soon. Neither will Mrs Hudson, or Doctor Hooper for that matter. They know about the nature of yours and Sherlock’s relationship and have rightfully sided with my brother in the matter. If you try to contact any of them, I fear that the least of your worries will your call being declined.” Mycroft answered, not looking up from his file.

“Jesus,” of course they’d known, of course they’d found out. And, of course they sided with Sherlock. But if I could just _explain_ that it wasn't a job anymore... No, they’d probably all still hate me.

But surely they could understand why I was hired in the first place? Sherlock was a time bomb waiting to go off when he met me. From the file I’d read, he’d been desperately lonely, with very few people skills, and nobody to really call a friend he hadn’t found through working. Mycroft had reckoned that he would have died within the next three years if I hadn’t have stepped in, could they really deny that? Or not say that it wasn't a good thing that I came along to give him some company, and possibly a reason to not be so damn reckless? Or at least be there to patch him up when he _was_ reckless? Really was it that bad a thing to do? Especially when our friendship grew into an _actual_ friendship and Sherlock had a better life? Was it _that_ bad?

I didn't know, and I wasn't sure if I particularly wanted to find out everyone’s opinion on the matter either. Lestrade would probably punch me, even if he did agree. And Mrs Hudson... I dreaded to think. She may have looked like a sweet old lady, but there was a woman made of steel underneath the exterior.

“Time is all you can give them at the moment.” Mycroft told me, just as his texting assistant came in, holding another file.

“Requires your immediate attention Sir, it’s about the Ugly Duckling.” She told him, handing over the file, and leaving.

“Ugly Duckling?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Mycroft was silent as he read the file, his face slowly starting to look more and more worried as he read further. “Oh dear.” He whispered.

“What?” I tried to look over at the file, but it was closed before I could.

“Sherlock is not at all well; it seems it’s time to call in reinforcements.” Mycroft sighed, taking out his phone, hitting the ‘9’ key and then the call button.

“Take Trevor out of his current assignment, give him the Ugly Duckling Assignment, do not tell him who ordered it.” He ordered, hanging up afterwards.

What the hell was going on now, how wasn't Sherlock well? And who the hell was Trevor and why was he being brought home?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all so much for your kind comments, they mean so, so much to me. This fic isn't the easiest to write, and the encouragement means everything!   
> Also fun fact - I called Sherlock 'The Ugly Duckling' because that's his code name in the show - if you look closely at Mycroft's monitor in His Last Vow when they're trying to find Sherlock, that's the code name on the screen. I thought that was pretty cool and decided to keep it!


	10. Chapter 10

9 Sherlock's POV

I had screwed up, Jesus Christ I had screwed up so badly. The Yard knew now, _fuck_ the Yard knew that John was gone. They knew he’d left me and now I’d never hear the end of it. It was bad enough hearing them accuse me of murdering John, but to have them mocking me for John leaving was going to be awful. At least they didn't know that John was hired to be my friend, at least they didn't know that. God knew what would happen if they knew about that.

This was all so screwed up, so damn screwed up, what was I supposed to do now? What was I supposed to do now that the Yard knew John had left me, and that I was alone again? I couldn't... I didn't _want_ to be alone like this anymore. I felt so empty without John by my side, I was so used to his praise, his sarcasm, and his presence, I missed him so much. But I couldn't take him back, he was fake, the whole damn thing was _fake_ and I couldn't go back to that kind of relationship.

But I couldn't go and find someone else to replace John. Nobody could replace John in my life; he’d been made _perfectly_ for me. He had... he put up with the violin concertos at 3am, the experiments, the body parts, the lack of sleep, my lack of social skills, all of it. He’d put up with all of it and more, and yet still understood me. I thought it had been a miracle to find him, I wouldn’t find another like that any time soon, especially not one who didn't leave after a week because it was too much for them to handle.

So what could I do now? Go back to my life at Baker Street, put up with all the mocking from the Yard, the loneliness? Resign myself to never being anybody’s best friend, anybody’s friend, at all? That the people I worked with and my land lady were the closest thing I’d have to a friendship, when really they only talked to me because I either lived with them or did their jobs for them?

I guess I had to. It was what I had before John, so obviously it would be what I had afterwards. I just, it was hard to adjust, to forget the man and pretend he never happened. I’d grown so used to having him with me, that to now not have him here, and knowing that it was all a fake, I couldn't adjust back to what it was like before. Everything seemed harsher, colder, and duller. I wasn't even sure what I was meant to do without John by my side anymore.

But, I had to learn. He wasn't coming back, and I wasn't trusting anybody else who happened across my path. No doubt they’d all be a plant from my so called brother, here to make me ‘better’ and whatever else he thought needing fixing. Mycroft had never been satisfied with how I turned out, not since the dia- well, not since ever really. Mummy and Daddy hadn’t been either... I wondered if they had gotten involved with this plot, but doubted it. They were entirely too nice to do something so cruel.

Getting up, I left the bolt hole I was residing in, deciding to give up and go home. No point moping around anymore really. The Yard knew John was gone, I knew nothing was going to change anything, especially not hiding in a hole forever. It was best to just get on with whatever I had left and move on, shove all the emotions and thoughts away. I had survived before, I would survive now. Without the drugs either. Going back to cocaine would only bring Mycroft in, and there was _no way in hell_ I was letting him back near me. I’d rather tear my own eyes out.

I walked the entire way home, thoughts whirling round and refusing to stop. It actually got worse in the hallway; I swore I could hear flashes of memories. John laughing with me about invading Afghanistan, joking about the ashtray I stole from Buckingham Palace, coming home with Chinese takeaway because neither of us could be bothered to cook. Had it always been this lonely before John? I swore the flat never used to be _this_ quiet; no flat I had ever lived in had been this quiet...

“Oh Sherlock, thank God you’re back! I think you have a client or something upstairs.” Mrs Hudson bustled out of her flat, looking worried.

“I haven’t scheduled any client meetings.” Nobody had given me anything good on the blog, or anywhere else for that matter...

“I know, but he’s insisting that he see’s you, hasn’t left since last night for that matter. He claims that he knows you, or something like that, I don't know.  I couldn't get anything out of him.” Mrs Hudson worried, glancing up the stairs like this mystery person would appear at any second, holding a knife. Well, when I was her tenant, I couldn't exactly blame her for that one...

But who the hell could this be? I didn't have any client meetings, and they generally weren’t this insistent either. They found out I wasn't here and left. And claiming that they knew me? That could be practically anybody, ranging from the homeless network to politicians.

“Go back to your flat Mrs Hudson, be ready to call Lestrade if needs be.” I warned her, carefully starting to climb the stairs. This could be any number of threats, or could be entirely harmless. Either way, best to be quiet and not alert the intruder to my presence, so I had the element of surprise.

I crept up the seventeen stairs, avoiding the creaky steps, keeping my back to the wall as I did so. There were no signs of disturbance outside the flat, and there were no sounds from inside either. The door was closed, but that was no indication of anything. Who the hell could this be? I hadn’t pissed anybody off apart from Mycroft recently, and he wasn't this secretive. If he wanted to deliver a message, he’d get me kidnapped and brought to him...

Wishing I had some sort of weapon, I slowly pushed open the door, spotting the intruder immediately on my sofa.

He was sitting on my sofa casually; blonde curls were cut rather short, thanks to his current mission. Tan indicated the mission had been somewhere warm, probably Turkey judging by the time on his watch. He hadn’t aged much since I last saw him, still looked like he should have been on a film set, though there was one new scar on his face. Faint, just noticeable, on his forehead, about a year old. All adding up to someone I knew very well.

“Victor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos! I can't describe how much it means to me!


	11. Chapter 11

10 Sherlock's POV

I didn't... Victor was _here_ all of a sudden?! What the... he was supposed to be on mission, he was _always_ on mission unl- _Mycroft._ That utter fucking _bastard_ was meddling again! Trying to give me bloody friends, like I was going to fall to pieces without them! For fuck sake, he could stop that _right the hell now!_

“Get out.” I told him immediately.

“Nice way to greet an old friend.” Victor smiled nicely, I wasn't falling for _that._ He worked for the bloody government, and his timing was impeccable. Clearly a job from my sibling.

“Don’t care, get out, I’m not your mission.” I glared at him, plotting ways to get him out of here with force. He was two inches taller, similar in muscle mass, but had intensive training in combat. But then so had I, and I caught murderers for a living... then again so did he, in a lot more dangerous situations than this.  

“Who said anything about a mission?” Victor asked, looking confused, I didn't buy it. He was a trained liar too, did it professionally in fact. Could never trust a professional liar.

“Come off it Victor, you were sent by my brother to look after me because he thinks I need it. Now leave because it’s not necessary, and is in fact downright condescending.” I told him, I was _not_ having this, at all. I did not need _looking after_ and I certainly didn't need to be spied on, especially not by someone like Victor. Not after that last... _operative_ in my life. I wasn't letting _Victor_ get ruined for me too.

“As far as I know Mycroft wasn't involved in this, I was sent by my S.O. here, got yanked out of an important mission and told that this was top priority.” Victor explained, I doubted that _highly._

“Don’t try to lie to me Victor, it’s unbecoming of you. Mycroft sent you here after what happened with John to stop me going off the deep end or some crap. This has him written all over it.” I could practically smell my brother’s interference in this. He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from letting me _live my own life_ for _five minutes_ when he could yank important operatives out of missions and send them back to England to spy on _me_ because his plan backfired on him. He couldn't take not being in control and in charge for more than five damn seconds, so of course he brought in Victor - _Victor,_ of all people - to ‘sort me out’ or whatever shit he was pulling this time. I couldn't believe him, could not believe that Victor actually agreed to it as well.

“If it does, I didn't know about it. All I got was this file off my S.O. after I was yanked out from Turkey. Read it and you’ll see that I’m not lying.” Victor handed me a file, it only contained a few pieces of paper.

Mostly, the paper had photographs printed on them. Photographs of me specifically. Me with various Scotland Yard members, a couple with Mrs Hudson, somehow one with Molly. One of me on the way to my bolt hole yesterday. And lastly, one of me and John. We looked... _happy_ together. We were laughing at something, walking down the street. Looking at it, I was hit with an intense feeling of _loss;_ I had lost John, and had lost that happiness with him. In every other photo I looked, well, terrible. Sleep deprived, half starved, and _miserable._ And alone, so damn alone.

The other page was a mission statement, explaining that John had been a plant and had been discovered. The words ‘Sherlock could become volatile and fall back into old habits’ were used, my _God_ that sounded like Mycroft. That arsehole had probably dictated this while he was coming up with his little plan involving John in the first place. Always planning ahead, acting like I couldn't handle anything by myself, like I had no self control and was such a brainless idiot I couldn't do anything for myself.

Well _fuck_ him.

“I wouldn’t have left my mission if I hadn’t have seen the photos, would have told Mycroft to shove it where the sun don't shine, if there was any room besides his head that is.” I fought a smile at the remark, Victor had never pulled punches, wait no _stop,_ “But then I saw the photos, and, Jesus Sherlock, I had to come back. You look like you got your soul ripped out of you, and how could I ignore that?”

“Easily enough, you’ve never come back before.” not for the drug withdrawal, or anything of the sort. Sure he’d sent letters of encouragement, but he had _never_ turned up. It was all too convenient for me to believe, far too convenient in fact.

“Yeah well you’ve never looked like _that_ before.” Victor argued, even if the file didn't say it, I could read between the lines. _Observe, report back and protect._ This was a mission. I was a bloody mission. My brother had sent the _only_ person I had trusted at university to come and _spy_ on me. Just when I thought he couldn't get any lower.

“Yeah, because I was the picture of health while ODing on cocaine multiple times.” I hissed, _hating_ him for lying to me, hating all of it. Victor knew me, knew what I was like, and yet he was insisting on lying, and acting like he was innocent in all of this. He wasn't innocent, this wasn't a friend thing. I was a mission, ordered by my brother, one that had been planned for _years._ And I _hated_ it.

“But you had people there for you then. You had that Lestrade guy, and were forging a career for yourself; you were safe for the most part. Now you’re... your whole world has been turned upside down okay? Someone you thought you could trust turned out to be a plant by your brother,” I winced, “And now you have no-one to turn to. You’re upset, and don't know who to trust, and nothing is making sense anymore, I get it. So I’m here to help, and yes I found out thanks to your brother, but I’m not working for him. I would never work for him after what he did to you, because you’re my _friend,_ and I care for you. I don't want to see you looking like this, or leave you to be stuck without anybody here to talk to. You’ve been through that before, and I don't want you to have it again. So please, let me _help_ you.” Victor pleaded, reaching out to hold my wrist.

“How do I know that this isn’t my brother?” I could never be sure of it, Mycroft was _everywhere._ He knew everything and watched everyone. He played with my life as he pleased, brought in ‘friends’ to spy on me, how could I possibly know that this wasn't just another elaborate plan?

“Because you know me, have I ever agreed with your brother, or liked him, or shown any kindness to him whatsoever?” Victor asked.

“No, but that doesn’t stop him hiring you.” Likability wasn't a factor in this, it never had been.

“True, but he didn't. I swear he didn't. I don't work for your brother; I work to take down weapons dealers, drug and human traffickers, things like that. I don't babysit people who don't need it, and I certainly don't drop a mission when it’s half way through for just anybody.” Victor gave me the most sincerest eyes, “Read me like you read everybody else. Take my pulse; deduce me, whatever you need to do. You’ll find no deception there; I’m here on my own. I am _not_ working for your brother, I am not spying on you, I am not reporting back to anybody else about what goes on in here. I am here to do one thing, and one thing only, and that is to stay with a friend who desperately needs someone to trust.” His heartbeat didn't waver, his eyes didn't dilate, there were no visible signs of lying, not anywhere. And Victor wasn't so good to train his eyes and pulse to stay steady.

He was telling the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the comments and the kudos! I really mean it when I say that it means the world to me!


	12. Chapter 12

11 Sherlock's POV

“I, I don't need you here.” I didn't, I didn't need him, or anybody. I was fine on my own, utterly _fine_ on my own. I didn't need company, or friends, or anything of the sort. I just needed cases, that was all, just cases. I could survive on those for the rest of time; I didn't need anybody, or anything, else!

“That may be, but you _want_ someone here, don't you? You’ve never liked being alone.” Victor answered; I was still holding onto his wrist, checking desperately for a change in heart beat, temperature, anything to prove he was lying so he could leave again.

But I didn't know if I _wanted_ him to leave. There was this hole in my life that John had left behind, and I wanted it fixed, but could I really trust like that again? Could I really let someone in like that? Let them be my colleague, and just pray that they didn't go?

I couldn't, John had turned out to be a plant, Victor was sent here by my brother, even if he wasn't working for him. Even if he hadn’t been sent here on a mission, Victor was one of the best agents MI5 had, he’d be bored here, and be needed somewhere else. He’d left once before, what was going to stop him from doing it again? And that was without even factoring in the fact that we’d never lived together, Victor hadn’t experienced me properly, not the full violin-at-3am, heads-in-the-fridge, cases-at-all-hours me. He would, he wouldn’t put up with that for long.

But to have someone _here,_ someone to talk to, go on cases with, to just _be here,_ would be a God send. The flat was so quiet, and he could fill that hole, he had filled a bit of that hole in the past. Victor had understood more than most, but to trust him again? To let him live here? It wasn't an option.

“But you’ve got missions.” He has so many missions, always had a pile of new potential missions to go on, even when he was already away.

“Not right now I don't. I spoke to the bastard you call a sibling, told him to put me on leave indefinitely while I stay here with you. And he actually listened this time, so I’m officially off the clock for as long as you need me.” Victor smiled, his pulse remained the same.

“He doesn’t listen to anyone.” He didn't, Mycroft never listened to a single person about anything. He was too headstrong and stubborn to.

“He does when he’s talking to MI5’s finest, who’s trying to sort out his mess.” Victor’s voice hardened a bit.

“But there’s no mess to sort out. I’m fine as I am, it’s not like I didn't survive before John was here, I can carry on without him.” it wasn't like I couldn't do anything for myself. In fact I was rather excellent at looking after myself. I’d made it to thirty-one without John; I could make it through the rest of my life without him. I resented anybody who said any different.

“True, but that’s an awful way to live, being by yourself like that. Nobody to talk to, nobody to back you up against whichever dickhead takes a disliking to you this time. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to stay here, to have a friend for once? One who really doesn’t have a hidden agenda?” Victor asked, he had a point, but _no._

“I can manage by myself. I don't need a carer, or a friend, or anything like that. I’m fine by myself.” I pulled away from him.

“Sherlock, come on. You can’t shut yourself off like this, with nobody to talk to.” Victor insisted, grabbing my arm.

“I can manage by myself, and I have people to talk to.” I did, I had Mrs Hudson downstairs, and Lestrade, and Molly, and Jo-... Other people.

“Really, and how many of them really know you? How many know your full name, or the fact that you love dancing, or about Redbeard?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“None, but that’s because it’s personal.” I didn't like telling people personal things; it wasn't because I didn't _like_ them...

“That’s what you’re calling it nowadays,” Victor smirked a little, “Alright, how many of these people do you talk to freely, without putting up that sociopath bullshit front? Do you let yourself be _you_ around them, or do you push them away like you always do?”

“I’m working with them, I can’t exactly go off topic and start getting emotional around them!” that would be entirely inappropriate at a crime scene, or the morgue, or anywhere else for that matter!

“Meaning you only really talk to them while you’re working, so you don't actually get any social interaction outside of work.” Bloody Victor, reading between the lines again, “Final question, just how many of these people do you talk to and call your friends, or at least colleagues, actually _respect_ you? How many don't spend their time insulting you for whatever reason, how many of them don't like you? Is there anybody in your life currently who talks to you who you know _genuinely_ likes you for you?”

I... there was... er... Lestrade -  no, he needed my deductions... Mrs Hudson, maybe, but she was motherly towards anybody who stepped foot in this house, and I did save her from her husband... Molly? No, she needed my deductions, and she liked anybody who paid her a compliment, even when it was just to get access to her lab. And Anderson and Donovan? They just hated me. As did everybody else in Scotland Yard.

“No. There’s, there’s nobody.” I used to be able to say that John liked me, that he was there for me, that he was the exception to the rule. My conductor of light, my blogger, my _best friend,_ at least on my side of the deal. But now...

“Fine, you can stay.” At least Victor had always proven to be nice, even when I was being a bastard. He’d never called me a freak, or used anything I’d ever told him against me; at university he had been encouraging. He had, he had joined in with me a lot, he’d been a lot like John really. Maybe, if he was like that again, it would be okay. I wouldn’t mind it if he was like that again. Even as I ran the risk of him leaving again, and having nobody, for now, it was better than nothing. Anything was better than the last few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments and the kudos, it really does mean so much to me!


	13. Chapter 13

12 Sherlock's POV

“I did try calling you from the plane, to tell you all of this, why didn't you answer?” Victor asked, letting my arm go, so I could get some distance between us. He understood I didn't enjoy being forced to stand so close. Especially when emotions were strained.

“Probably because you were phoning a number that’s been defunct for about eight years.” I answered, the phone which belonged to the number he probably called was somewhere in the Thames, or possibly spread across an alley somewhere... or something.

“Not that number genius, I did actually get your latest number from your file. So where’s _that_ phone?” Victor teased.

“Bedroom, it got smashed.” I shrugged it off, like it was nothing.

“Right, why?” Victor asked, curious look on his face.

“My brother and John wouldn’t stop messaging me on it.” I answered, shrugging that off too.

“Fair enough, and I guess there’s no house phone either?” Victor glanced around.

“It kept ringing.” I couldn't stand the sound of the phone ringing, or talking on the phone either. I didn't like how people sounded on the phone, and because I couldn't see them, I couldn't deduce them. I got more from texts, thanks to timing how long for replies to come through, syntax, things like that.

“Kinda the point Sherlock,” Victor smiled, “How the hell as anybody gotten hold of you recently? Or does nobody else contact you?”

“Lestrade comes over.” I hadn’t bothered getting a new phone, Mycroft would get the number and then he and John would start messaging me again. Currently, they weren’t bothering to come to the flat, and I’d rather keep it that way. The two of them keeping their distance, while I was uncontactable. Though, it was rather inconvenient, having to borrow others’ phones to contact others.

I could use Victor’s now though, if he was around for it.

“Fair enough.” Victor seemed satisfied with that.

 “Fine. Well now that you’ve come, you can go now. I’m not in the mood to play host.” I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to do with him, now. It wasn't like I had anything for him to do, and I certainly didn't want to talk.

“You’re never in the mood to play host, and that’s not stopping me, I’m here to stay for a while.” Victor say _what?_

“I don't need you to stay, I can live by myself, I’m not that needy.” I didn't need someone to keep an eye on me, I was fine. I was handling this well all things considered; I wasn't even attempting to get high! Or smoking! That meant I was fine so Victor could sod off to wherever he was staying, or to his _own flat._ It wasn't like he had been there recently. 

“Didn’t say you weren’t.” Victor shrugged again.

“So why exactly are you here?” It had been so long since I last saw Victor, as his job had kept him away from England, and I had missed him. But I didn't want to be babied because John had left, or treated like a pathetic waste of space.

“Because I figured you’d need help paying the rent.” Victor answered simply... He really was not offering to _move in_ was he? He could _not_ be serious!

“You’ve got your own place on the other side of London. A nice one, too, go live there.” I didn't want him _living_ here; he’d leave so damn quickly. We had _never_ lived together; Victor had no idea what I was like to live with. He would hate it.  

“Yeah, but it’s soulless and empty, the building is filled with vapid people, too. This place has character and a soul; also your land lady sounds like excellent company.” Victor laughed, winking cheekily.

“I have her on semi permanent mute, and the neighbours are even more vapid. You will get bored.” I didn't _want_ him here; Victor made me talk to him, and knew me far too well. I couldn't hide from him as easily as I could from other people. Having him here would end in disaster, in, in _talking_ to him about what had happened, about John, about it all. I couldn't... I couldn't do that. I wasn't _good_ at talking, or expressing myself.

And anyway, I was trying to shut down emotional responses; Victor wasn't going to help with that at all.

“Ah it won’t be too bad; this is the real London, the one I’ve missed. And how exactly am I supposed to keep you company if you’re all the way over here, and I’m over there? It’s best if I stay here.” Victor smiled; it was infuriating in several ways.

“Go home Victor. There’s nothing for you to do here, your flat at least will need cleaning.” I glared at him, seeing if that worked to shift him out of here.

“Got a cleaner, my flat is _spotless,_ so what will I do with the indefinite time off I’ve now got? I’ve been pulled from my last mission; I can’t exactly go back, now.” Victor pouted, “I may as well stay here, get the lay of the land into my head, and maybe catch up with my best friend. We haven’t talked in years; I’ve probably missed a lot.”

 “I was never your best friend Victor.” I never had been, he’d been mine, but he had had many friends outside of me. Besides, he hadn’t actually been in contact with me for years now. Hardly becoming of a best friend.

“You were, actually, still are in fact, despite the radio silence of the last few years. Now come on, stop being a stroppy arse, because I’m staying, no matter what you say. You need my help, and I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re alright again.” Victor really wasn't going to give in. Bugger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! It really means so much!  
> Also, if there's anything you think should be added to the tags, or anything you want me to prewarn you about at the beginning of chapters, please do not hesitate to ask!


	14. Chapter 14

13 Lestrade's POV

I was sitting in my office, writing up some reports when my phone rang, the call was coming from Baker Street... The only person who called at Baker Street was Mrs Hudson. _Oh shit._

“Hello?” I answered the phone, _please let everything be okay, please let everything be okay._

“Oh hello Greg, Dear, I’m sorry to bother you, but, I think Sherlock’s got a visitor and I don't know if... I mean they’re not shouting or anything, but with Sherlock you never know just who he’s meeting with.” Mrs Hudson stumbled through her explanation, sounding rather worried.

“Ah, want me to come over and check this person out?” I had to come over anyway to get a statement from Sherlock on a recent case. Well, that was the excuse I was going for right now anyway. It had been a couple of days, I should have probably checked up on the kid.

“Oh yes please, I would do it myself, but this man looked a bit... secret agent-like. If you know what I mean.” Mrs Hudson worried, oh that didn't sound good.

“Alright, I’ll be right over, give me twenty minutes. If you hear anything suspicious, do not go upstairs.” I had a bad feeling that it was one of Mycroft’s men in Sherlock’s flat, and who the hell knew what that man would do? If Mycroft was insane enough to hire a best friend for Sherlock, I dreaded to think what else he would do to ‘protect’ his brother. It could get ugly very fast, so I should have gotten down there as soon as possible, if not just to do damage control.

I hung up and raced out the office, getting a disapproving look from Donovan. She always knew where I was going when I raced out of the office like this, there was only one person in the world who could make me run this way.

“Not a word Donovan.” I warned her as she opened her mouth, I didn't have time to hear her hate speech against Sherlock, or anybody else. She had crossed a line with her taunting last time, and I wasn't going to let it happen anymore, even if Sherlock wasn't around to hear it. He didn't deserve it, especially not right now.

Getting in the car, I raced off down to Baker Street, not hearing the sounds of fighting, or arguing. Nothing sounded like it was breaking. But then again, if this new guy was an agent of some sort, he had probably been taught to be silent... I could hear talking, though, I couldn't make out words, but I could definitely hear talking. And it didn't sound heated, which was a good sign.

Slowly, I snuck up the stairs, trying to make out what exactly was going on inside.

“I think I just heard someone on your stairs, is that the land lady?” a deep voice asked, a deep voice that didn't belong to Sherlock.

“No. That would be Lestrade.” That was Sherlock’s voice groaning, “Come in Lestrade, you’re not exactly quiet.”

So I opened the door, finding Sherlock and... Some random guy I had never seen before in my life. He was tall, several inches taller than Sherlock in fact, with close cropped blonde hair that was just starting to curl on top. He was well muscled, and quite tanned, dressed in green army fatigues. He and Sherlock didn't look to be in the middle of a fight...

“Ah, so you’re the inspector who gives Sherlock all his cases.” The man smiled, he was English, too, incredibly posh in fact, “Victor Trevor, I’m going to be staying with Sherlock for a while.” He came over, offering a hand for me to shake.

“Er, Greg Lestrade,” I shook it, “You’re going to be staying here, with Sherlock?” I wasn't quite sure I understood. Was this guy one of Mycroft's? He certainly looked like it, but why would Sherlock agree to that? He hated his brother at the best of times, and right now he really didn't want anything to do with him, why was he agreeing to live with one of his brother’s agents?

“For God’s sake Lestrade, Victor isn’t one of Mycroft’s men, he isn’t here on a mission.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, flopping into his usual chair.

“Yeah that guy could pay me all the money in the world and I still wouldn’t work for him. I’m actually an old friend of Sherlock’s, from university. I’ve been away for a while but I came back the minute I found out what had happened.” Victor explained, this still didn't quite add up. Sherlock had a _friend_ from _university?_ I’d always pegged him as the ‘loner for life’ type, and not someone who could make friends so easily, especially not ones who would drop everything to come back when something went wrong...

“I can see you don't believe me, but it is honestly true. Do you think I’d actually be here if Sherlock didn't allow it? This one is stubborn as a mule, if he wanted me gone, I’d be gone.” Victor laughed a bit, he seemed pleasant enough, but then again so had John...

“So you’re saying that you,” I pointed at Sherlock, “Are actually letting someone live with you, voluntarily? After everything that’s happened, you’re _letting_ someone live with you again, so soon?” that really did not add up in my mind.

“Yes it’s true, I deduce that there are no signs of lying with Victor, and considering how long I have known him, I have grown to... believe his word.” Sherlock avoided the word ‘trust’ there.

“But so soon?” it wasn't like Sherlock to trust someone easily, and after the big heartbreak of John, I didn't believe that he would be so easily trusting again.

“Yes, so soon, how many times do I have to repeat myself? I would tell you to phone Mycroft on the matter but obviously that is never happening again. Victor is honestly an acquaintance from university, who left to be a dull _spy_ for years. But when he found out about my recent situation, he decided to pay me a visit, and is now going to be moving in. Trust me, I don't want him to be moving in, but he’s being insistent like usual.” That got a half meant glare in Victor’s direction, making the other man laugh, “I’m allowing it because I have decided that I need a new assistant. My last one is gone, and Victor has had years of training in the field, is excellent in combat, and is experienced in taking down criminals. He will be a more than adequate replacement.” Sherlock explained, sounding bored already.

“So you are a secret agent then?” I turned to the tallest man in the room.

“Yes, thank you _so_ much for letting that one out, considering it’s supposed to be _secret,_ ” Victor teased.

“Secrets are boring.” Sherlock answered with a small smile, that was the first one I had seen since John.

“But yes I am an agent, highly trained for combat situations and other such things. I’m also a close friend of Sherlock’s from years ago, and while we did lose touch for a while thanks to our jobs, we are now reconnecting thanks to the departure of Sherlock’s previous assistant. I’ll be keeping him company for a while, and keeping him in trouble.” Victor winked, I had to admit, the man was charming. Incredibly so. I could feel myself warming to him already. And he had made Sherlock smile a bit, something that had been missing for too long.

Maybe I could trust him a bit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't update on Tuesday, it's been a busy week! To be honest, it's a going to be a busy month, I've got a lot of things on, so I'll apologise now if there's any other skipped update days, I'll do my best to make it up later on!


	15. Chapter 15

14 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade stayed for a while longer, until he felt certain that Victor wasn't some sort of plant or other. It was all tediously annoying, and I severely hoped that not all first meetings with Victor would require so much questioning; it would make trying to solve a case _increasingly_ difficult. Between the mocking over John’s departure and the introductions of Victor, I would be lucky to solve a case in a _month,_ and that would be intolerable.

“So that’s Lestrade, eh? He doesn’t seem too bad.” Victor smiled as the downstairs door closed.

“He’s tolerable.” I answered, plucking at my violin strings.

“He’s more than that, you like him.” Victor smiled more, dropping down onto the sofa, stretching his legs out.

“What makes you say that?” I was mildly curious, and talking about this was actually better than awkward silence.

“You explained to him why I was here, and tried to reassure him that this wasn't a set up. You don't usually do that with people you don't like.” Victor explained, “And he likes you too, I don't think he’d be as concerned about me if he didn't care about you.”

“Wonderful observation Victor, it’s almost like MI5 taught you something about reading people.” I told him sarcastically, running my bow along the violin strings.

“Nah, you taught me that, MI5 have frankly terrible classes on how to read people compared to your teachings.” Victor smirked, “But as I was saying, he seems nice, and you like him.” he leant back against the sofa, apparently making himself at home. I grit my teeth against telling him that that was _my_ sofa to lie on, he wasn't allowed to stretch himself out on it. I had just managed to wrangle all the cushions into optimum position.

“So? What about it?” so what if I liked someone? I knew it was a very rare occurrence, but still, I found someone I could tolerate for more than five minutes, what was so special about that?

“It’s a good sign, is all. I’m glad that you have had someone all these years, someone who doesn’t just give you cases, but actually _cares._ ” Victor answered, I winced a little. It didn't feel like that a lot of the time, all Lestrade and I talked about was work, with the exception of now. If that was what made a friend, then I had been looking at this the wrong way my entire life.

“If you say so.” I wasn't going to bring that up now, lord knows what Victor would do. Probably give a lecture, or try and convince me I was wrong, after knowing Lestrade for all of five minutes, unlike the _seven years_ it had been for me.

“I do say so... And speaking of Lestrade, you told him that I was going to be your _assistant_ now.” Victor raised an eyebrow, “Is that true, or were you lying to shut him up?”

“Well I am down an assistant, and you do have the skills I relayed to Lestrade, so it would make sense for you to join me. Genius does need an audience, after all.” _Do not admit that you want someone to fill the hole John left behind. Do not admit that you want someone to fill the hole John left behind._

“That it does... sure you want me though? You know nothing of what I’ve done the past few years; you don't have a clue what skills I could possess now.” Victor was practically inviting me to deduce him. Well if he was going to play it that way, then he would be in for a _treat._

“At university you were a keen boxer and fencer, as I was, we regularly sparred together and you proved yourself to be competent in both. MI5 took that and strengthened your skills, training you in several different styles of combat, as well as training you to use a gun and several other weapons. You train intensely, for at least an hour a day, probably on a rota of some sort so nothing gets left out. Currently you are MI5’s top agent, and so have been let out frequently on solo missions, ones that go on for a long time, meaning you are capable of keeping up appearances and remembering details of covers for long periods. Therefore you will be able to remember details for cases, and keep up with me as we chase the killer. Of course your combat and gun skills will also come in handy if we get into a fight with an assailant, and considering you carry and gun and knife around with you at all times, I think you’ll do nicely.” I explained, “Oh, and you can cook rather well, too. So at least we won’t die of starvation.” All that travelling had made him an excellent cook, and capable of cooking a wide variety of meals. That could come in handy...

“Incredible as always, and as accurate as ever.” Victor didn't bother to look shocked, he knew of my capabilities, always had, in fact. He had never hated them either, had always been fascinated, and praised every single one. It was part of the reason why I had been drawn to him in the first place.

“You did forget one thing, though.” Damn.

“There’s always something.” I sighed, there always was, _always._

“I’m also an expert with decryption, you get a case involving hacking, and I’m your guy to solve it.” Victor explained, looking at his hands, I saw the evidence of it. _Damn._

“No-one likes a show off Victor.” I said instead, making the man laugh.

“Pot, kettle. Now I need to talk to your land lady about the rent.” Victor got up and left, no doubt off to charm Mrs Hudson, too. My God how he managed it I don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for getting this to 1000 views! It means SO much to me!


	16. Chapter 16

15 Sherlock's POV

After Victor had settled his new rent agreement, and thoroughly charmed Mrs Hudson, he came back upstairs and flopped onto the sofa, next to me.

“So, guess we’re flatmates now.” Victor smiled, like this was an absolutely excellent thing.

“Obviously.” I still wasn't sure. The company was nice, but I still wasn't sure. I mean, Victor was very understanding of me, but this was our first time living together, I didn't have a clue on what to expect. I didn't know his night time habits, whether or not he was still a morning person, how much of his junk was going to end up in the flat, none of it. I had _no clue_ what to expect from him. Or what to expect in terms of his reactions to _me_ and my habits. He would make a fine assistant, but a flat mate? I had no idea.

“This will be weird, we’ve never lived together before, and I haven’t lived in one spot like this for _years._ ” Victor commented, slouching further down on the sofa.

“I can actually _unpack_ clothes and not have to worry about packing them up again, or leaving anything behind.” His eyes lit up at the thought; “In fact, I’m going to go do that now, no time like the present!” he leapt off the sofa, starting to race upstairs.

Wait, John’s room was upstairs...                                 

“Wait!” I raced after him, stopping him from entering the unoccupied bedroom. I hadn’t been up there since John had left, I had no idea what was still inside. Anything could have been still in there... I wasn't sure if I was ready to discover just what was left of John in this flat.

“What?” Victor looked at me for a second, “Oh, you haven’t been in here since he left, have you?” his face turned sympathetic, his hand reaching out to hold my arm gently.

“No, it... it didn't seem necessary.” I had avoided it at all costs, avoided looking at the stairs and everything else involved with John’s room. It still was John’s room in my mind, that hadn’t changed, I doubted it ever would. Upstairs was John’s, and while I never used to care about invading his privacy, now I sort of... I liked that it wasn't disturbed up there. That I didn't know if there was anything left. There could have still been one of John’s jumpers in this room, and if I didn't know, I could pretend that maybe there really was. That maybe he was still here...

“Oh Sherlock,” Victor seemed to understand, “If you want, I can lay off unpacking for a while. Or maybe you can go out for a bit, while I unpack?”

“No, no I...” I didn't know what I wanted, “Unpack and settle in, it’s all just sentiment.”

“You still care about John, don't you?” Victor guessed, I hated that he could read me.

“Yes... No... I don't know.” He had lied for our entire relationship, spied on me and pretended to be my friend. But he had felt like he had been _my friend,_ and I had been stupid enough to fall for it entirely, and had grown so attached to him. He’d been so kind, and had joked with me and understood more than most, he had called me _brilliant._ And while I knew it was all one massive lie, I still wanted him to come back and give it to me again. No matter how much I tried to shove the thoughts away, I still wanted him back.

“I understand completely. He screwed you over, but you still care about him. I wouldn’t personally, but that’s because I’m used to it in my line of work. Tell you what, how about I unpack my clothes into your wardrobe? I can sleep on the sofa or something until you’re ready for me to move into John’s room, yeah? Would that be better for the moment?” Victor suggested, I nodded mutely, “Alright, now have you got room in that wardrobe of yours, or is it still filled with disguises?”

“I can clear some room.” I turned and went back downstairs.

“Great, I won’t need that much, there’s only a few sets of clothes.” Victor followed.

He helped me move some things over in the wardrobe, creating a bit of space inside, and in one spare draw, without messing up my carefully indexed clothes. The sock index thankfully stayed intact, as did the colour coded shirts and suits, and my coats weren’t disturbed at all. It was a small compromise, and it worked reasonably well. It was weird to see my clothes packed into their spaces slightly tighter than before, but it was better than first thought.

“Happy with that?” Victor asked as we surveyed our work.

“As much as I can be.” I was never happy with _sharing_ space, or having my indexed clothes messed with. And some of Victor’s clothing colours clashed with my co-ordinated ones, but it was manageable.

“Just don’t expect your clothes to be leaving with you, I may have to burn some of these, they’re terrible.” Honestly, for someone who had to blend in with rich arms dealers, Victor sure had a lot of _really_ old clothes. And a serious love for the colour green.

“Don’t you even think about it! I’ve had these for years.” Victor gasped mockingly.

“Exactly, they’re positively ancient. I can’t have you running around with me looking like you’re part of the homeless network.” Who did he take me for? I didn't just associate with _anybody._ And I held a certain degree of professionalism.

“Excuse me?!” oh _shit_ was that too far? Had I gone too far?! Fuck don't tell me I had already offended Victor _please,_ “I’ll have you know that these clothes do not make me look homeless at all, Mr God-forbid-anybody-see-me-looking-like-anything-but-a-supermodel.” Victor poked me in the side playfully... maybe I hadn’t gone too far...

“It’s called looking professional Victor, nobody trusts a genius who can’t dress themselves, no matter how intelligent they are.” I shot back, building a bit of confidence, thanks to my friend’s smile.

“Fine then, I’ll just have to wear expensive suits on the chase with you, though honestly that is a ridiculous thing to do. You do realise that it’s easier to wear harder wearing clothes on a chase, right? It saves a tonne in cleaning bills, and can actually protect you from getting scraped up.” Victor rearranged some things, so his suits were next to mine. His were a mix of well known brands, in blacks and greys, including a brown pinstriped number in the mix. The shirts were in multiple colours, which would probably go well with the black and greys. Not too bad, professional wise.

“I like to look my best. You never know when you’re going to have to quickly blend in a crowd.” I defended myself haughtily.

“And yet I have managed for many years, even while not wearing a suit.” Victor teased, nudging me in the side playfully.

“Yes well not all of us permanently reside in the warmer climates, where suit wearing is deemed too hot for daily business.” I answered, straightening a shirt, ignoring the nudge. I’d missed being playful with someone, having something to fall back on when it was needed. I had spent these last few months almost in a bubble where there were no teasing moments, no gentle nudges and pushes with no hint of violence in them. It was... _nice,_ to feel lit again. But no, I had to ignore it, shut the longing away, this wasn't who I was anymore. _I did not care anymore._

“You were the one who chose London,” Victor rolled his eyes, “You know what, I may try to prove you wrong one day, maybe sneak in something different into this wardrobe, get rid of some of these suits. You’ll feel a lot better on the chase in something like tracksuit bottoms.” The smirk on my friends face growing. 

“Don’t you even think about it.” I grabbed his wrist, watching a _very_ familiar smirk turn even more evil.

“Oh going to play _that_ game are we? Try and stop me.” Victor’s other hand moved, and what felt like seconds later, we were actually sparring with each other, and I was enjoying it. For the first time in months, I was _enjoying_ myself.

Maybe Victor living here wouldn’t actually be so bad after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is wondering, Victor's job is similar to the one Johnathan Pine had in The Night Manager - he infiltrates drug trafficker/weapons dealers gangs and takes them down from the inside. Also the green fatigues Sherlock mentions are the same ones from the desert scenes in The Night Manager! The lots of green clothes mention is because I'm rather in love with Loki, and I couldn't resist mentioning it!


	17. Chapter 17

16 Lestrade's POV

While this Victor guy sounded like he was going to be good for Sherlock, I still wasn't sure. I mean, I trusted Sherlock’s judgement on most things, but he _had_ been wrong about John.

But he _had_ known this Victor for longer... Victor did work for the government as some sort of spy, and Mycroft could have gotten his hands on the guy before he turned up. Lord knows that Mycroft could get his hands on anyone he wanted. Hell he had planted _John_ into Sherlock’s life. And I had thought that John was a solid, dependable person, who had had Sherlock’s best interests at heart. So did I trust Victor? I wanted to, I honestly did, but could I _really_ trust him?

Maybe I should look him up, see if he had any sort of criminal record, or if I could access his previous spy missions. I probably wouldn’t be able to get through because I was only at Scotland Yard, but it was worth a try...

Sighing, I sat down at my desk, going to start my search on my computer. But there was a file in the way. A rather discreet looking file, with the MI5 logo in the corner. Hesitantly, I opened the file, seeing Victor’s face on the front page, along with what was clearly his record with MI5. _Mycroft._ He planted this here, for me to find. How had he known...? Oh why was I bothering to ask that, it was Mycroft, he knew I was protective of Sherlock and wanted him away from negative influences. But Jesus Christ, did he _have_ to but in, and not let me do this myself?! Couldn't he leave his brother alone, after everything he had done to him recently?

I would have phoned him to tell him to fuck off, but that would acknowledge Mycroft’s existence, and I would have rathered to not do that. Instead, I looked through the record in my hands, because while I wasn't going to acknowledge Mycroft, I wasn't about to ignore the information he had just given me. I needed to investigate Victor, to make sure that Sherlock was safe in his company, and that the man wouldn’t be a bad influence.

Reading through, I found that Victor came from a well off family, had never gotten himself into trouble with the law, and was an upstanding citizen. Paid his taxes, did his job well, didn't cause trouble while he was at home, was rather intelligent. Not as intelligent as Sherlock, but still, very smart. Had a couple of degrees, knew several languages, won medals in all the combat sport he competed in. Nothing in the file indicated anything about his time as an MI5 agent, but this did look good. From this file, I could see that Victor was a good person, and would keep Sherlock safe, if anything, he’d help him a lot. Definitely not keep him out of trouble, but possibly safer while on a case. And he’d be good company.

But was he a plant? Could he be a plant from Mycroft? The man was a spy for a living. But Sherlock had known him for so long, they sounded like they were good friends, so he wouldn’t betray him. Was he viewing it as a betrayal though? Or was he viewing it as another mission, or as helping Sherlock? God knows, but Sherlock did seem to trust him...

Sighing, I decided to keep the two of them away from crime scenes for a while, just in case. No doubt the others here at the Yard would rip Sherlock to shreds if he brought another person to a crime scene, for them to disappear soon after. They were still crowing about the fact that John had gone, despite not knowing the reasons behind the disappearance. I didn't want to make the situation worse for him in any way. The poor guy was going through enough, I wasn't about to add to that pile.

Getting up, I put the file in my bag for further inspection, deciding to head home for the day. I’d done as much paper work as I could stand, I was getting a headache, and I wanted to peruse the folder for a while longer. So I switched off the computer and headed out into the bull pen, hoping to sneak away without having to talk to anybody.

“I heard that the Freak’s pet ran away because he’d had enough of being treated like crap all day long.” _Ignore it Lestrade, it’s not any of your business._

“No, I heard that he killed him, you know, as an experiment.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, the Freak always did look like a serial killer in the making.” _Grit your teeth and keep moving. Don't get involved, don't get involved._

“Yeah, as Donovan kept on saying, one day we’d be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes would be the one who put it there. Though he’s a bit too clever to leave evidence of John’s body behind.” Were they _laughing_ at that? In this profession as well?! Jesus Christ, who was approving these people to get past basic training?! Black humour was good on the job, but damn it joking about someone being murdered, by an informant no less? For God’s sake, they could at least show some respect. Sherlock had had his heart broken because of John; they could at least _act_ like the respected him.

Though nobody knew that right now, I was the only one in the know...

“What do you think he meant by ‘he’s gone’ though? He did apparently shout out that John was _gone_ at that last crime scene.” Why couldn't Sherlock have kept his mouth shut like usual? Damn it he should have left it shut for _once._ The speculation had already been spreading like wildfire.

“No idea, maybe he ran off, finally escaped, because can you _imagine_ living with _Sherlock Holmes?_ ” There was a visible shudder from the officer speaking.

“God no, imagine the experiments, the crime scene photos.”

“Imagine the _insults._ Having that brain deducing you _all day long_ and never having a moment’s privacy.”

“John got out at the right time.”                                                     

“That’s for sure. He lasted remarkably well, considering. Longer than anybody else would have.”

I got to the lift before I heard anymore, unsure if I could have coped listening to it. I _hated_ hearing the other Yarders insult Sherlock like that; the poor man did not deserve it. Yes he was rude and on occasions cruel, but he was _trying._ He _tried_ his best, his social skills were just... _lacking_ in places. And he was a damn sight smarter than anybody else in this building, and helped us solve more cases than we could have possibly hoped to solve by ourselves, and that deserved respect.

And anyway, wasn't it just sodding common decency to be nice to one another? Sherlock was a human being after all, no matter how much he liked to pretend otherwise. He had emotions, and more troubles than I could count. If he could hear what the Yarders said about him behind his back, I dreaded to think how he would feel. Hell, I couldn't imagine how he felt hearing what he did hear on a day to day basis. His primary nickname was ‘Freak’ for God’s sake, that had to hurt.

That was why I had liked John so much, if I was honest. Not just the solid, dependable side, but the way he treated Sherlock. He treated him like he was human, told him he was brilliant, joked with him (even when it was incredibly inappropriate) and _accepted_ him for who he was. Sherlock was in desperate need of that. I couldn't imagine how Sherlock felt in light of everything; he must have been in agony...

Maybe Victor could help with that. I mean, if he was who he said he was, and if he was doing this for the right reasons. Maybe he would be good for Sherlock, be the one to make him laugh and treat him like a human being, instead of a monster. Maybe he could be the replacement Sherlock needed, the one to make him forget John ever existed. He needed that, he definitely needed that.

On second thought, I may actually get them both at a crime scene soon, after I’d finished the file of course. But after everything had died down a bit, maybe I could get them both involved. Yeah, that could help Sherlock; get him back to his life again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please do let me know what you think! If you don't have an account on here, you can always tweet me @corruptedpov or message me on tumblr effulgentcorruptedpov!


	18. Chapter 18

17 Sherlock's POV

I watched Victor like a hawk for days, making sure that he wasn't texting anybody untoward about our time together, wasn't wandering off to meet with anyone else, or doing anything that could even remotely hint at him not being on my side of this. And he passed with flying colours, in absolutely everything. It did look like he really was on my side in this, was actually here for me, not anybody else. It was... strange, knowing that Victor’s entire reason to be here was me. That he had no ulterior motive. Usually people talked to me with some kind of agenda, they always wanted something from me, generally it was something case related. But Victor, Victor was here to actually be here _for me,_ no other reason. I wasn't sure on what to do with that information.

Not that I didn't have time to think about things, because my God, I had time. The blog was being entirely _boring,_ right now, every client having petty problems they could solve themselves if they just opened their eyes, for once. And Lestrade wasn't giving me anything either, only texting me questions on my well being. It was clearly a ruse to make sure Victor checked out, but it was _infuriating._ I wanted a case! But there was no case to be had! And if there was a case, Lestrade was holding back. Couldn't he just trust me on my judgement of Victor and get on with it!? He trusted me about John; he could trust me with Victor!

“Maybe he’s worried about you getting hurt again.” Victor offered.

“I didn't say anything.” I had been thinking, not talking.

“You did, you talk out loud a lot, you just don't realise you’re doing it.” Victor answered, slipping onto the sofa.

I grunted in response, turning over to push my face into the sofa cushions. I needed a _case_ already, the flat was boring, people were boring, everything was _boring!_ I needed something to do, something to focus on. A puzzle, a mystery, something to get my mind working again. I was suffocating in this flat with Victor, the two of us having nothing to do. Victor had been working solidly for several years; he wasn't used to sitting around. Neither of us were used to sitting around, we needed to do _something_ already!

I didn't care about what the rest of the Yard would say, what everyone’s reactions to Victor would be. If they were horrible, they were horrible, it wouldn’t matter who was there with me. I was still the freak whose best friend had _gone_ and had publicly shouted it out. There’d be questions, so many questions, and with Victor it would probably be made worse. But if there was a case, I could endure everything. I just needed the damn puzzle to get on with something. I’d take a domestic open-and-shut case at this point, just to give me something to do for _five minutes._

“Get me your phone.” I held my hand out, receiving Victor’s phone seconds later.

_Bored. Get me a case. SH._ I texted Lestrade, dropping the phone back into Victor’s hand.

“You still always this blunt?” he asked, twiddling the phone between his fingers.

“Yes. Problem with that?” I raised an eyebrow, Victor should have known by now that I was blunt constantly. I didn't see the point in trying to placate a person; it took up too much time.

“No, just, he is your friend Sherlock; you could at least phrase it like a request.” Victor bit at his lip.

“He’s a colleague, I don't have to be nice.” we mutually needed each other; I didn't need to be overly nice to Lestrade. I did make a conscious effort to be nicer to him than others, but that didn't mean I had to go down the overly nice route.

“You kinda do, mate, it’s nice, and makes people feel good, and not used.” Victor answered, giving me a concerned look.

“Sociopath remember?” I waved him off, I didn't care about emotions and _feelings,_ it was all pointless, and anyway, I didn't have any. I was a high functioning sociopath, therefore without emotion, or care for anyone else.

“That line doesn’t work on people who _know_ you aren’t.” Victor made me glare at him.

“What do _you_ propose I am then?” I dared him to say it.

“A human being with Asperger’s Syndrome, who’s in denial about said syndrome, judging by your reaction.” Victor answered... I hadn’t reacted.

“Your left eye twitched when I said it. And you stiffened slightly, too.” he offered as explanation, “I learnt your tells early on in this friendship, it’s sometimes the only way to get anything from you.”

“Whatever.” I went to get up, not wanting to face this conversation.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Victor grabbed me back.

“Getting my violin, I fancy playing something.” I tugged on my arm, but Victor’s hold remained strong.

“Do you really hate talking about it that much? It’s not something to be ashamed of you know.” Victor squeezed my wrist, presumably to comfort me or something.

“I know that, I’m not stupid.” I knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of, that having Asperger’s wasn't an awful thing, nor was having any kind of Autism. But damn it if anybody else knew it would... it wouldn’t end _well_ for me, not with people like Donovan around.

\--                                                                                                

**_“He’s not normal Siger, and he never will be! He’s going to need help for the rest of his life!”_ **

**_“I know that, Dear, but I don't think he’s going to need that much help, he’s fine now, isn’t he?”_ **

**_“Yes but he’s a child! What about when he’s an adult? Or when we send him to school? He’s fine now because of Redbeard, what about when the dog isn’t around?”_ **

\--

“Clearly not with your IQ level, so why are you so reluctant to admit to it, if you aren’t ashamed?” Victor asked, I didn't have a clue on how to answer that one.

But luckily, I didn't have to, as Victor’s phone pinged with its ‘new text message’ sound. I took the opportunity and grabbed the phone, opening the text to find that Lestrade wanted to talk to us both.

“Lestrade is coming over.” I groaned, not even wanting to know what that man had decided to talk to us about. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

“Oh, is it a case?” Victor asked, taking the phone to read the text.

“If it was, he’d text details, or just show up. This is going to be a _talk._ ” I flopped back onto the sofa, if I wasn't already losing the will to live. Now Lestrade wanted to come over and _talk_ to us? What could possibly be more horrendous than that?

My brother turning up for a talk. Or John doing the same thing. This was preferable.

Still though, I _hated_ talking, and I didn't even know what this was going to be about! Why couldn't Lestrade be round with a case, or something _interesting_ for once?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to update this again! It wasn't my intention to leave this nearly a week, but I've had a very busy few days. I recently moved in with my nan, to help look after her because she isn't very well, and we've been doing up the house/moving things round/trying to fit two houses worth of stuff into one, on top of looking after her, and a tonne of other things. I've been so busy this last week that I haven't had time to update! Sorry about that!


	19. Chapter 19

18 Sherlock's POV

It turned out that Lestrade only wanted to set some ground rules. _Ground rules_ for God’s sake! He dragged us both out of the house to discuss _crime scene etiquette_ and to ask how this would work with Victor. Like it wasn't obvious already! He would assist me in any way he could, not touch anything I didn't ask him to, and offer his expertise when it was needed, like when one of us had a gun to our heads. Wasn't it obvious that that was what Victor was here for?! I had already told Lestrade this; he should have known to trust me on this by now!

Oh, this was because of John, wasn't it? Lestrade didn't want another John situation happening with Victor. Fair enough really, but damn it couldn't he trust my judgement on this?! I knew what I was on about; I _knew_ that Victor was trustworthy. He wasn't like John; he would _never_ be like John.

“I’m just trying to make sure that you’re safe Sherlock, I don't want a repeat of what happened last time, alright?” Lestrade sighed when I complained, “No offense Victor.”

“None taken.” Victor smiled.

“I don't _need_ to be mollycoddled! I know my own deductions, and I know Victor a damn sight better than you. He’s not like _him,_ he isn’t a spy,” I paused when Victor snorted, “Well he is, but not for Mycroft! He’s not a plant, either, or anything! I know him well enough to know that, so just believe me for once and give us a bloody case!” I growled, I’d had enough of the mollycoddling. I didn't need to be wrapped up in bubble wrap, or treated like I was made of glass. For God’s sake I was an adult man, I could take care of myself, I didn't need my bloody handler acting like I couldn't make judgements by myself.

“Sorry kid, I’m just being thorough.” Lestrade answered, _now_ he wanted to be thorough?! He couldn't be thorough at a crime scene for once, instead of investigating my life?!

“Be thorough at a crime scene, not with me, I don't _need_ your protection.” I really could look after myself; all I needed from Lestrade was a bloody case. Nothing more. Just a damn case, was that too much to ask for nowadays?!

“Alright, shall we all calm down a minute?” Victor stepped in, before either of us could say anymore.

“Now I understand your concern Lestrade, I truly do. Sherlock’s had a rough time and you don't want to see him hurt again,” yes, because who wanted a bloody broken machine to help them solve crimes exactly? “And Sherlock, you just want your life back as much as physically possible, because you like normalcy as much as possible.” I got sent a _look_ daring me to argue. I gave Victor a look that dared him to even try saying the ‘A’ word in front of Lestrade. If he did, it would be the very last thing he ever said.

Luckily he took the hint, and knew better than to push me, so continued on like I hadn’t glared at him.

“The questioning is coming from a good place, and I’m more than happy to assuage your fears Lestrade, because I understand that this is a tough situation. But maybe we should do it another time, maybe while at a crime scene, or possibly at the Yard. Sherlock knows what he’s doing at a crime scene, he doesn’t need a reminder, it’s just me that’s the problem.” Victor finished, keeping hold of my arm so I didn't go anywhere while he spoke.

“Yeah, maybe that would be a better idea. Sorry, I just... there’s never been a situation like this before, and I’m trying my best here. But I’ve got to at least pretend I’m following the rules, you know? I break enough letting Sherlock in on so many investigations.” Lestrade sighed, “And I _care_ about you, alright? You’ve been through a lot and I’m trying to stop it happening again.”

“I don't _need_ you to stop it. Victor and I have known each other for far longer than you think, he’s not about to betray me.” not like John did, I almost dared to trust victor. He was a good man; a very good man in fact, had been since I had met him... And I had deduced him, followed him, and triple checked _everything,_ Victor was clean. I was sure of it. And if he wasn't, well... let’s just say I wouldn’t be very happy about it.

“We’ve known each other for over ten years now, the only reason why I left was for my job. The reason why we lost touch for a while was because of my job too, but as soon as I heard about what happened, I was on the plane home.” Victor emitted the bit about him being brought home by my brother. Probably for the best, Lestrade would not like that in the slightest.

“Alright, I’ll believe you. And I guess the higher ups can’t really complain about having an agent at a crime scene, especially not a trusted one like yourself.” Lestrade bit his lip.

“I can call my boss if anybody asks anything. They’ll sort it all out, don't worry.” Victor smiled again reassuringly, and apparently that was enough to charm Lestrade. The bastard had probably been practicing that charming smile for the _years,_ he’d always been charming, but this was ridiculous.

“Thanks... look; I’ll call you boys when I get anything interesting. Right now there isn’t much on apart from a load of paperwork.” He gave in, _finally._

“That’s fine, we’ll think of something to do in the mean time.” Victor squeezed my wrist again; I wasn't quite sure why he was doing it. But I didn't complain about it, either.

“I need to go to Bart’s; Molly may have something for me to experiment on.” She had texted me just the other day to say that there was the possibility of some sort of body part I could use in an experiment. She hadn’t confirmed yet, and while I was out, I may as well have dropped by to see if there really was anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, I really appreciate knowing what you guys think of this! It's a struggle to write, so to know that there's people enjoying it means a lot!


	20. Chapter 20

19 Sherlock's POV                                                                                               

Victor charmed Molly like he did everybody else, making the poor woman blush profusely and drop her clipboard twice as he spoke to her. She was positively smitten with him, and definitely developing a new infatuation with him by the time we left. How Victor was so damn charming all the time I didn't know. When I had to be charming, it took effort, I had to think about it. Victor on the other hand managed it like he had been born as charming as he was. I envied him a bit of that, he was so damn _nice_ and everybody loved him _effortlessly._ I’d been with these people for years and it had taken a large amount of effort to get them to listen to me, whereas Victor turns up for five minutes and generally he was trusted. Arsehole.

Anyway, Victor inserted himself into my life easily enough, managing to somehow always be there, but blending into the background quite well. He got the shopping for us, as well as cooked, cleaned, and generally everything John did. Only he didn't have to go to work at any point, he stayed in, or took to taking me out for walks around London. He said it was to get some fresh air into me, and to help him reacquaint himself with London for when we had a chase to go on, but I knew it was more an exercise in getting me out of the house so I didn't ‘mope around’ as much. Sometimes, I let him get away with it without a word, others I told him to sod off and leave me alone, which he respected.

He respected a lot of my wishes, actually. Victor wasn't one for forcing me too hard into things I didn't want to do, or for moaning when I was doing something most would deem to be weird. He never unpacked his things in John’s old room, and dutifully slept either on the sofa, or in my bed when I wasn't using it, which was rather often.

In fact, he never actually went into John’s old room at all. The door remained tightly shut, and nobody even dared to go upstairs, either, it was like a no go zone. I didn't want to go up there and discover just what was left of John in the flat, Victor didn't go up out of respect for me, and Mrs Hudson seemed to forget it existed, too. The room was left alone, and I was happy to leave it that way.

All in all, it wasn't too bad an adjustment to my previous way of living. Having someone in the flat made it less of a black hole of silence, and it stopped Mrs Hudson and everybody fussing over me. If Victor hadn’t been here I was sure that I wouldn’t have ever heard the end of it, but with Victor, everyone seemed to back off after they got used to him.

Which left Scotland Yard to ruin it. Because that was what Scotland Yard officers did, turn up and start hurling insults like I was their punch bag. I’d been dreading my first case back after that last argument with Donovan, but soon enough I knew I’d have to face her and the rest of the officers milling about. Who knew what they had been cooking up in my absence, and now Victor was going to hear it too. I had hoped he wouldn’t have had to hear the insults, but it looked like I couldn't get him out of it, unless I banned him from cases, which was _not_ happening. He was here to assist me; therefore he had to be _at_ the scene in the first place.

So when Lestrade texted me the address I rushed out the door with my new assistant, trying to forget about the abuse likely to be hurled at me. Who knew what would be round the corner in this case. Could be pools of blood, could be huge piles of rubbish, could be anything. And soon everything would be revealed, and then the chase would begin. The wind in my hair, the blood pumping through my veins, the two of us against the rest of the world. John and I - no, _Victor_ and I, an unstoppable unit, working together. Insults and comments on my personality wouldn’t matter, none of it would matter. What could be better than a case for us to work on together?

“Ah, the Freak’s back at last! Finally decided to show your face again after last time, or have you given up looking for your precious pet?” Donovan pulled a mock pout as we walked up.

“Or maybe I decided to respect his wishes, unlike you respecting the wishes of Anderson’s wife. Did you _really_ have another go with each other in the back of the forensics van? No wonder you need me, the contaminated equipment probably can’t get anything but your DNA.” I sneered at her, not in the mood for her mocking jokes.

“At least I can get some without having to resort to brain washing.” Donovan hissed back, then seemed to notice Victor behind me, “And who are you exactly?”

“He’s with me.” I tried to duck under the crime scene tape, but was blocked by Donovan.

“He’s with you?” we were given a very disbelieving look, “Wow you _do_ move on fast don't you? Looks like you really don't have any feelings, to move on that quick.” She was cut off by Anderson, _dear lord no._

“Who’s this?” He asked straight away, eyeing Victor warily. Victor himself didn't say anything, simply observed the two so called officers in front of him. Calculating weaknesses most probably, the man did it to everybody who walked into the room. Find the weakness, exploit it when necessary. Which could become handy quite quickly...

“He’s with the Freak here.” Donovan said smugly, “It’s only been a few weeks and he’s already got another one brainwashed into following him around. I told you that he didn't have any emotional connection to John didn't I?”

That one stung a lot. If only they knew just how much I cared about John, about how I wasn't the one doing the deceiving in the relationship. If only they _knew_ just what I was going through over here.

“Yes well this chat has been _lovely,_ now how about if you let us in and maybe we’ll solve your crime for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll have another chance to screw each other before Anderson is called home by his wife.” I glared at the two, “Come along Victor.” I lifted the tape for my friend, the two of us heading into the crime scene while I hoped the worst of the insults were over for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, it means so much to hear what you think of this fic!


	21. Chapter 21

20 Sherlock's POV                                                               

The body on the floor was smothered in blood, multiple wounds decorating the chest and face. Looked like the fatal blow had been to the neck, would have to double check that though, the wound through the eye could also be a likely candidate.

“Ah, there you are Sherlock! Get here alright?” Lestrade asked, looking concerned. It was getting tiring to deal with it by now.

“Fine. Now why do you need me here exactly?” this looked _boring_ and _dull,_ why bring us out here for this?

“Couple of reasons, one, we can’t identify a murder weapon...” Lestrade listed his issues, all while sneaking glances between Victor and I and the other officers milling around. All of them were looking at us, probably figuring out just who Victor was and why he was here. Nobody was saying anything directly, but there were definite whispers.

“Who the hell is _that?_ ”

“He’s good looking, that’s for sure, how did the Freak get him here?”

“Fuck knows, how did he get someone as sane as John to follow him round?”

I grit my teeth against it, going back to deducing the crime scene, Victor asking some relevant questions at times. He looked tense though, apparently affected by the comments like I was.

“I’d say that those wounds were caused by a shot gun. Sawn off one at that, too.” Victor suggested at one point.

“Good observation, Victor, these marks are definitely not from a knife, a sawn off shot gun would make more sense in this respect.” I agreed, the theory was incredibly plausible, considering the evidence. Would explain why there were no defensive wounds on the body, and why there were wounds in several places that would easily have killed someone by themselves, without the added extras.

Soon I deduced that the killer was a hunter of some sort, and had grown tired of the victim judging him for his hobby. It was clear that the victim themselves was a vegan, and very much into animal rights. A hunter in the neighbourhood would not have gone down too well with them.

“Look for people with hunting licences who knew the victim, they’ll have the murder weapon in their house, probably in pride of place somewhere, it’s their main choice of weapon hunting trips. It should be easy to figure out from there.” I stood up, everyone was still staring. Seriously, what was with the staring? For God’s sake, I’d brought someone new to the crime scene, it hardly worth all this staring.

Oh, they were probably still thinking of what happened last time I was at a crime scene. They knew that John was gone for good, though Lord knows what they thought they were going to get from me by _staring._ Morons, the lot of them. They couldn't deduce the simplest things if they tried, let alone deduce something about me.

I turned and left the crime scene, knowing Victor would follow behind. He wasn't one for hanging around, and he did love to accompany me at the moment. It was slightly grating when doubled up with all this God damn staring. Though what was worse were the whispers.

“He actually found someone else, and so damn quickly.”

“Wouldn’t take much for him to snatch someone up from the street would it? He knows all the best ways after all.”

“And if he can keep an _army doctor_ like John under his thumb for so long, he can keep anyone.”

“Scary.”

“Very.”

“If John’s gone, where do you think he went?”

“As far away from Sherlock Holmes as possible, like any other sane individual.”

The comments _hurt,_ deep in my chest. I tried to push the feeling away, but I couldn't budge it at all. I had only really had to deal with Anderson and Donovan’s comments for so long, the appearance of John had shut most people up, but now they were all starting again. I could hear every single officer at the scene judging us, judging _me._ Did they honestly think that I kidnapped John and Victor? That I had really brainwashed them into being my friend? Did they think I was _that_ incapable of finding friendship?

They must have done. And really, they were right. I hadn’t found John, not by myself. I hadn’t gained his friendship by being myself, albeit a slighter nicer version. It had all been a ploy, set by my _brother._ Hell, if it wasn't for him, Victor wouldn’t have ever found out about this and I’d still be alone. Mycroft had always said that I’d never make any friends by myself, that I’d always be alone. Once again he was right. Always so damn _right_ all the time.

\--

**_“Caring is not an advantage Sherlock, I would give up on ever finding someone now.”_ **

**_“Who says I want anyone anyway?”_ **

**_“You do, I have seen how you react to those who pay attention to you, you want a friend. But it’s impossible; you won’t find anybody who will put up with you for long. It will only end in tears if you continue to search for a companion.”_ **

**_“And how would you know? Have you ever tried to find someone, huh? Have you ever bothered to find a friend, or anything?”_ **

**_“I have, and it is not what you expect. Friendship takes work Sherlock, and kindness. You do not understand people, and have very few social skills. You will always be alone Sherlock, it’s time to accept that.”_ **

\--

Without realising it, I was walking faster to get away from the voices and the looks, just wanting to get out of here.

“Whoa, slow down! Sherlock!” Victor raced to keep up.

“Go away Victor.” I didn't want him to see that I was upset, didn't want him to try and make me _talk_ about it.

“No, you don't deserve those comments, or any of that.” Victor put his arm around my shoulders, “Let’s go home, it’s quieter there.”

“Wow, like I wasn't going home anyway Victor, I don't need you to lead me there; I know where I’m going.” I pulled away from him, not needing his _comfort_ or his _sympathy_ right now. I didn't need any of it! I was _fine,_ I didn't need this pitying, it was just a few damn comments and a personality I couldn't change. There was no need for any of this.

“I’m just trying to help.” Victor put his hands up in surrender.

“I don't need help! I don't need you, alright?! I’m _fine_ by myself, and I’m used to hearing that type of stuff all the time, it means _nothing,_ alright?” I stormed off, getting into a cab and slamming the door, “Baker Street.”

The last thing I heard before we drove off was Donovan, telling Victor that he should run from me while he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments/kudos you have given me, it means so much to know you're enjoying this!


	22. Chapter 22

21 Lestrade's POV

“I’d run away from him now if I were you, while you have the chance.” Donovan told Victor as the cab drove off, a clearly very upset Sherlock Holmes inside.

“And why the _hell_ would I do that?” Victor glared at the woman, who didn't seem to notice this.

“Because he’s a psychopath, plain and simple. You do know what happened to his last ‘friend’ right? He left, because Sherlock is a dangerous person, and while it seems all fun and games for a while, it really isn’t. You think that you’re having the time of your life with him, running around, catching criminals, making us look like fools, but really, he’s taking-” Donovan started, I couldn't hear more of it.

“Donovan that’s enough.” I cut her off, not wanting to hear anything more she had to say. Victor himself was looking at her like he wanted to hit her very, very hard, and I couldn't exactly blame him. Donovan never knew when to _stop;_ it was almost like she took pleasure in trying to ruin the friendships Sherlock made with people. It was sickening if I were being honest.

“Someone should tell this new guy though, before he gets in too deep. Wouldn’t want him to end up going missing like John now would we?” Donovan really did not see the thin ice she was walking on, did she?

“John did not go missing; he left for reasons that are none of your business. Now get back to work, you’re not paid to stand around trying to scare a man’s friends away.” I told her, earning an eye roll.

“So in his pocket it hurts.” Donovan muttered, but left, heading towards Anderson. I decided to ignore her comment, but if she carried on in my ear shot with Anderson about this, then I’d be sending them both to disciplinary meetings. God the paperwork on that would not be pleasant in the slightest.

“Sorry Victor, they’re just... Donovan just doesn’t know when to stop.” I apologised to the man left behind, who was still glaring at Donovan. I dreaded to think what that highly trained spy brain was thinking about; it certainly wasn't pleasant towards the woman.

“Are they always like that with him?” he asked after a moment, breaking his stare to look at me.

“Er, yeah, a lot of the time. It was better a while back, when John was here. He was sort of a buffer, if you will. But since he... left, things have escalated again.” I sighed, wishing it hadn’t.

“Why though? What started it all in the first place?” Victor looked confused; I thought he knew Sherlock rather well.

“Well you know Sherlock, he tends to rub people up the wrong way, and Donovan and Anderson took great exception to it. Usually somebody starts an argument whenever they come near each other.” I explained, surely Victor knew this; he _lived_ with Sherlock now, and had apparently known him for years. Something like Sherlock’s personality wasn't something you forgot in a hurry.

“He doesn’t start the argument though, does he?” Victor made me think for a moment.

“Erm, no. Not really. It’s usually one of those two.” Now that I thought about it, Sherlock never really did start an argument. He ended them, always with the last word, but he didn't usually start them.

“And then he fights back, just like always.” Victor smiled self depreciatingly, “Takes the lowest blow he can to stop them hitting him again, though apparently they don't take the hint.”

“When you’re skills are being mocked-” I started to defend my officers.

“That doesn’t matter; _they’re_ the ones mocking _his entire existence._ You heard them; they’re calling him a psychopath, insinuating that he would _murder_ someone, or give someone Stockholm Syndrome just so they stay with him. They think that he’s incapable of making,” Victor paused, eyes tearing up a bit, “They call him a _Freak,_ Inspector. How is that in any way fair?”

Victor had a point, I guessed.

“But he’s not... he doesn’t feel things like that.” I didn't know how to describe it. Sherlock wasn't a sociopath, that was for sure. But he certainly wasn't... _entirely_ normal, I guess you could say. He was... there was something not entirely normal in his head. Aspergers, maybe. Something along those lines at the least. Whatever it was, he wasn't... there was just something about Sherlock that left him unable to process emotions properly.

“He does, he feels them more intensely than any of you realise.” Victor turned to go.

“Where are you going?” I called him back.

“Home, tonight’s going to be a danger night, I need to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.” Victor walked away, leaving me with a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, between you guys and actually writing this fic, you're keeping me sane and it's greatly appreciated!


	23. Chapter 23

22 John's POV

My leg hurt. Pain was starting to flare up my leg, bringing back my limp. It wasn't as bad as it was when I first came back from Afghanistan, but it still _hurt._

“It’s psychosomatic, it’s psychosomatic.” I told myself, refusing to even _think_ of using a cane. It was entirely in my head, there was no injury, and no pain, there was _no need_ for me to be limping! My shoulder was where the bullet wound was, not my leg, and if my shoulder could function, so could my bloody leg!

The reasoning didn't work; I continued to limp around the flat I was staying in, feeling sorry for myself. I wish I could change it, but damn it things had gone so damn wrong recently. Fuck if I could go back and change what happened between Sherlock and I, I would have. We should have hidden all the bloody evidence, Mycroft was usually better than this. Then again, Sherlock got into _everything_ and he knew how to access places. We should have figured this out, should have safeguarded against this. Hell I should have _explained,_ I should have stayed and explained. Why did I let Sherlock push me away? I should have stayed, _I should have stayed._

I dreaded to think of how Sherlock was doing right now, he had that _Victor_ person with him, but other than that, I didn't know how he was doing. Mycroft seemed to trust the man, but how was he holding up? He’d always been so lonely, and now he had found out that we hadn’t met by accident. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like... shit we’d fucked up, we had fucked up big time.

At least I knew that Sherlock wasn't back on the drugs, that was certain. Mycroft had promised me that he wasn't, and that Victor would stop him from doing anything like that. But damn it this was so _hard,_ not knowing. I wanted to be there with him, to help him through this. Obviously I couldn't, though, I wouldn’t be welcome. I should have stayed and explained, though; I regretted that almost more than the actual lying in the first place.

I mean, I had to lie in the first place anyway, to get in with Sherlock in the first place. He wouldn’t have reacted well to me telling him straight away that I was sent by his brother. My whole mission was supposed to be that I was to offer Sherlock comfort, that I was supposed to be his friend and to look after him. Stop the stupid man from accidently killing himself by forgetting to eat or sleep, or getting himself killed by some lowly criminal. The lie was there for a good reason really, though we still should have hidden the damn evidence better. Should have burnt it, or at least locked it away in a Sherlock proofed room.

But damn it we hadn’t and now Sherlock knew and he was beyond pissed off, left alone with this _Victor,_ like he knew anything about Sherlock. Did he know about his mood swings, his terrible people skills? Did he know about the experiments and the violin concertos? Did he know _anything_ about Sherlock at all? People changed a lot between university and adulthood, so did he _really_ know Sherlock at all? I doubted it. And yet he was there looking after my friend, which should have been _my_ job. I was the only one qualified to do it, the only person who had stayed long enough for Sherlock to grow attached to.

I’d have done anything to go down there and prove my point, but Mycroft had told me to let Sherlock cool down. But he was taking _so long_ to cool down I doubted he ever would. He wasn't replying to any text I sent, nobody else in our social circle was daring to answer any of my calls, and nobody was telling me _anything._ How was I supposed to make this better, and get back to my damn job and stop this bloody limp if I didn't know anything about the situation?! I had no information, bloody hell I need information!

As I thought, my phone suddenly pinged, signalling a text had come through.

_Worrying uselessly will do nothing to fix the situation. MH._

Great, Mycroft was watching me, too. Overprotective bastard. Though, maybe it was a good sign, that he was keeping tabs on me. Hopefully this meant he had a plan to get me back to Sherlock, because I sure as hell didn't have one, unless it involved heading down to Baker Street and forcing Sherlock to talk to me. That would not end well, either, Sherlock wouldn’t be happy, and fuck knows what that Victor would do. Or Mycroft for that matter, seeing as he apparently knew what was best for Sherlock, and when it was best for me to talk to his precious brother.

_Well then do something to fix it. Who knows what Sherlock is going through right now?_ I replied, I wanted to do _something;_ sitting around here was driving me insane. And if I didn't do something soon I was so scared that my leg would flare up again, take me back to walking with a cane. I couldn't go back to the cane, stay in this boring life; I wanted to go back to Sherlock. That life was exciting, and full of adventure. I need it, I needed the adrenaline to get through this, I couldn't live without it. And only Sherlock could give it to me.

_Endeavouring to, thank you for the push. MH._

_Well it’s doing a fat lot of good._

_Sherlock is difficult; he takes time to get through to. If you cannot wait, I can get you a job in a high action facility, such as an Accident and Emergency centre. MH._

_Appreciated._

It would be something at least, to tide me over at the least. While I wasn't with Sherlock, it could keep me walking and slightly saner at the least. I needed some sort of excited, and a distraction, while I was away from Sherlock like this. That could work, definitely could work, at least for now, until things got better.

Just until I got back to Sherlock, once this was sorted out. Something would get fixed, and I’d be back with him again, I was sure again. We just needed to _talk_ and explain, and I had to prove myself to him again. I genuinely loved that man as a friend; I couldn't just leave him forever. Not over this mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all the comments and the kudos! It means so much!


	24. Chapter 24

23 Sherlock's POV

“Come to tell me that everything they said wasn't true?” I asked as Victor opened the door, it was obvious what he was going to say, but it wasn't going to work with me. I knew the score around here, knew exactly what I was like, knew everyone’s opinions of me, too. Platitudes weren’t going to work on me here. They may have worked at university, but I wasn't a naive twenty year old anymore.

“I was, but apparently that’s going to do sod all.” Victor sighed, slipping onto the sofa next to me.

“Obviously.” I let him put a hand on my knee, squeezing it.

“I... They’re so cruel to you, is it always like that?” Victor looked incredibly concerned at the prospect.

“Generally yes, though usually it’s not centred around what happened to John.” I didn't want to say his name, but didn't exactly have a choice.

“What else do they say?” Victor continued.

“The usual, they call me a freak, a psychopath, try to get a rise out of me a lot. Just like at university.” I shrugged, pulling my legs up onto the sofa.

“Jesus... is anybody nice to you at all?” Victor almost sounded scared to find out.

“Lestrade is, for the most part. Dimmock can be pleasant at times, depending on his stress level. Everyone else, not so much.” I shrugged, it wasn't like I wasn't used to this by now, it was hardly something to be upset about.

“Bloody hell. Why don't you stop them? I mean, you fight back, but why haven’t you done anything else? You could report them for the way they treat you.” Victor asked.

“No point, they’d only be replaced with other officers who would do the same thing. Scotland Yard doesn’t exactly hire the most open minded people.” That was true enough, I’d worked with most of the officers at the Yard over the years, the vast majority were all the same, and the insults never really changed either.

“Can’t Lestrade do anything to stop them? What they’re saying, it’s... God how can you stand hearing that, day in, day out?” Victor asked, he looked like he honestly had no idea how I managed this.

“Lestrade tries to tell them to stop, but this is one of the orders they don't follow.” I got up, going over to my violin, playing a few bars.

“But how can you stand it Sherlock? How can you listen to it so often? Doesn’t it hurt you?” Victor stayed on the sofa.

“After hearing insults like that for the majority of your life, you get used to it.” I continued playing, wishing I didn't have to have this conversation. I didn't like talking about the fact that I was mocked and jeered at while I tried to work, that I had to fight with nearly _everyone_ just to get listened to, that nobody respected me, no matter what I did. I’d tried to be nice, tried so _hard_ to be nice, even now I tried to be nice, and I was still hit back with vile insults constantly. Fighting back with taunts wasn't the best idea for stopping it, but it was all I _had_ to fight back with. I had no other weapon, nothing else to fall back on.

And besides, when they already thought that you were a psychopath, what was the point of proving them wrong? Psychopaths got listened to, at the least.

“Oh Sherlock.” Victor came over, carefully wrapping his arms around my shoulders, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to hear that. Why didn't you tell me this before? You should have told me that this was going on.”

“And said what exactly? ‘Oh, hi Victor, the consulting business is going well, only I have to fight every day with my co-workers who think I’m insane. Why don't you come back and watch it, while inevitably being unable to do anything?’ That would have hardly been a good thing.” I sneered, “Besides, I figured you would know, having known me for so long.” He’d seen university, what it had been like. He had seen how _everyone_ but him had hated me, so of course he should have figured that this behaviour would continue into adulthood.

“How was I supposed to know that?! Adults generally are a lot nicer than teenagers, Sherlock!” Victor was wrong.

“You take down the worst human beings in the world for a living, you know that adults aren’t nicer than teenagers, they’re _worse._ ” I knew that Victor knew that, he took down human and weapons traffickers, drug cartels; he knew that adults were horrendous people. Teenagers were just the tip of the iceberg.

“Yes but I like to think that the majority of people in the world are nice human beings, who are actually kind to one another and aren’t massive arseholes.” Victor sighed again, leaning his head against mine.

“Not in my experience they’re not.” I sighed too.

“Sorry you couldn't find a better class of human, apart from a tiny few. If there’s anything I can do to help you, anything at all, I’ll do it.” Victor promised, and really, he already was sort of helping.

Even though I didn't want to talk about this, and have him see me weak and hurt, he was helping. By standing by me, listening to what I said, being _concerned_ for my well being. John hadn’t ever asked if the insults hurt my feelings, had thought that I didn't feel things ‘in that way’ whatever that meant. He just thought that I was a sociopath, and a job, too. Victor though, he actually _tried_ with me, he tried to understand, knew that I did feel things, even when I wished I didn't. And he tried to _comfort_ me, and while I usually hated anything like that, this felt... nice, I guess. It was nice. To feel close to someone, to know that they had my back, and it wasn't because he was being paid to do it.

“You’re doing enough Victor as it is.” I let myself enjoy the hug for a second longer, before pulling out of it.

“Nonsense, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for a friend in need.” Victor smiled, I could have gotten used to something like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all once again for all the comments and the kudos! It really means SO much!


	25. Chapter 25

24 Mycroft's POV

Watching from the cameras situated across the street from 221b, I could see Victor talking to Sherlock, and apparently comforting him after their day at the crime scene. It was... _good_ to see that there was someone to steer Sherlock away from his danger nights, who actually talked to him about how he was feeling. John had never really done that, and had instead tried to distract my brother, with varying degrees of success. Maybe I should have instructed him to... I shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, there was no point, seeing as John was not going to be reconciling with Sherlock any time soon.

Once the men had moved from the windows and further into the flat, I changed the monitors to check up on John. The ex-soldier was preparing to go to work at the A&E department, as I had instructed him. That was also good, it was keeping him active and with a certain level of adrenaline, to stop that limp coming back. It wouldn’t be as good a solution as placing John back with Sherlock, but it was the best I could do.

I would not have usually cared about the well being of a former operative, but John had been a rather essential part of my brother’s life, and had done great work with him. His work termination has been through my own fault, and to me, it seemed fair to make good on the promise I made him two years ago.

_“So I just spy on your brother, patch him up when he needs it and makes sure he eats, and in return I’ll be cured of this limp?” John looked unimpressed, and very much like he did not believe me._

_“Yes. My brother has a very exciting life style; he catches criminals for a living, which is of course very dangerous, something **you** crave.” I knew that word ‘danger’ would encourage John; he couldn't resist anything to do with danger. _

_“And why exactly does he need me?” John was starting to look more convinced._

_“Because he is a danger to himself. Between his personality, drug addiction and quirks, my brother is rather obnoxious, and hasn’t gained many acquaintances because of it. he needs someone to look after him, before he gets himself killed by the age of thirty five.” It was going to happen if John did not step in, I could see it now. I had calculated all the factors, and every single one said that Sherlock would be dead before his thirty fifth birthday. Whether by his own hands, or by a criminal, I didn't know, and I didn't particularly want to find out either. It was one mystery I wished to remain a mystery._

_“And you think that I’m the right person for the job?” John raised an eyebrow._

_“All of your psychological reports say that you are the right person who will work well with my brother. In fact, one may say that you’re a perfect match.” I had gone over **everything** I could, and John was **perfect** for Sherlock. Between his personality and his service record, he would be the perfect partner to my brother’s life. _

_“All you want me to do is look after him? that’s it? not report back to you, or force him to do anything apart from look after himself?” John still looked sceptical._

_“That is all I want. And in return, you get a place to live that isn’t that tiny bedsit, a job at a surgery, the danger you always long for, and almost no chance of a discharge from this war.” I watched John think about it, then give in._

I had promised no discharge for him, and this was the least I could do to thank him for his tireless work of the last two years. it could not have been easy looking after my brother day in, day out like he had. Sherlock was a complete nightmare to deal with, and gave me far too many headaches to count, at least when John had been around, it had been easier to deal with my brother.

Though this clean up was not easy either. I could not intervene, at least not too obviously. It was a risk enough to bring Victor back into the fold, but it had been worth it. Sherlock was responding well to him. Though I wasn't getting any information back from him, the spy had decided to shut me out entirely, as soon as he found out how this entire situation had come about. So now I was relying on monitors placed around the city to get my information, which was not easy in the slightest. It was the best I could do, though, the _only_ thing I could do.

At least Sherlock had someone who understood. He needed that. he would surely perish without someone to understand and look after him properly. And that was something I was very reluctant to let happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, seeing all your encouragement and your enjoyment is wonderful! Apologies though if there's any typos in this chapter, I did change everything my beta reader said to, but it appears to have not saved, so I've had to quickly do it again. If there's a missed capital letter or something, blame me for that!


	26. Chapter 26

25 Sherlock's POV

After that first case, Victor slotted into case work easily, and the officers at Scotland Yard got half used to him. Lestrade still seemed to be wary of Victor’s motivations, and the rest of the Yarders still warned him off from me, but Victor took it all in his stride, like he did with everything. He reminded me of John like that, really, he heard the warnings against associating with me, and ignored it all.

The Yarders didn't give up though; they continued to try, just like they did with John. Always questioning why Victor was here, why he was _allowed_ into a crime scene, what the hell he saw in me. It was horrible, made me want to shrivel in a ball and die. I refused to let them see that, though, I held my head high, pretended that their ignorant comments didn't bother me, and fought back at every single chance. And if Victor wanted to join in, then he was more than welcome to take these guys down a peg or two... as long as he didn't mention anything to do with my... _problems._

“Still hanging around this freak, you’re more persistent than I thought.” Donovan looked smug as we walked up to the latest scene.

“Or possibly I’m just more open minded than you.” Victor answered, glaring at the woman. He had grown to really hate her over the past few encounters, and quite frankly, I didn't blame him entirely.

“I’m not the one running around with a psychopath, one who’s friends have a habit of _disappearing._ ” Donovan glared at me.

“At least I don't sleep with married men, how _is_ Anderson’s wife by the way? Still living in blissful ignorance?” I shot back, ducking under the tape and heading towards the crime scene, where Lestrade was standing.

“That new guy is still here. Didn't expect that.”

“Well John stuck around for years.”

“Fair point.”

“Ignore it Sherlock. They know nothing of you.” Victor whispered, resting his hand on my shoulder.

“I don't need your comfort here.” I shook him off, refusing to be _comforted_ here. Not in front of the Yarders, not in front of _anybody._ Anything like that was only asking for more mockery. I couldn't take more mockery.

“Sorry, just trying to help.” Victor whispered, stepping back.

“Help by being my assistant, not my therapist.” I hissed, this was something Victor couldn't shake. The overprotective streak was infuriating at times, and the constant need to check that I was _okay,_ I couldn't stand it. I didn't need to be questioned on my emotional state every time someone was cruel. I was used to it by now, it wasn't anything new for me.

“Oh what’s he still doing here? I thought we were done bringing in random people to tread all over our crime scenes.” Anderson started moaning, his voice grating on my nerves.

“I’m a consultant, and he’s with me.” I was not going through this again. I’d said that Victor was with me far too many times, nobody had cared after the second crime scene when John had turned up!

Then again, John was now gone, and everybody seemed to think that I was at fault for his disappearance. But this wasn't anything to do with John, and Victor hadn’t done anything wrong, or anything to hint that he wasn't anything but a good person, therefore everyone needed to stay the hell out of it.

“And how do we know we can trust him exactly? He could be another psychopath like _you._ ” Anderson spat the word out, that _hurt,_ deep. I hated being called a psychopath, almost as much as I hated being called a freak. It was... I didn't like the insinuation that I was a ruthless killer, just because I experimented on body parts and could read a person better than anybody else. I wasn't a psychopath, I was nothing like a psychopath.

“High functioning sociopath.” I corrected him, _don't say anything about that Victor, please. Don't mention the Aspergers, please don't mention the Aspergers._

“Whatever, same thing really. And doesn’t answer what _he_ is either.” Anderson sneered at Victor.

“Well I think I’m needed at crime scenes now, seeing as I’m Sherlock’s assistant.” Victor answered, luckily not trying to put his arm around me or something equally as stupid. I didn't need physical touch right now, physical touch would only make this worse. I needed to go and _look at the damn crime scene._

“More like slave.” Anderson muttered, Victor’s eyes narrowed.

“Lestrade, where is the crime scene? I’d like to actually do some work at some point today, preferably before Scotland Yard trample all over the evidence.” I changed the subject.

“Inside, and it’s a bloody one.” The Detective Inspector answered, heading inside.

“I don’t want _him_ inside my crime scene, he could be anyone for all we know!” Anderson protested, he _had_ to make this difficult, didn't he?

“He’s not just anyone, he’s my _assistant._ Now stop complaining and get on with your job, if you are capable of it.” I hissed at the man, getting to the end of my tether with him. Would he ever stop moaning? Honestly, it was like I was trying to bring in a known psychopath to the crime scene or something. All because Victor was new, and everything that had happened with John was fairly recent in everyone’s minds. Anderson never could resist making my life difficult.

“Yes and for all we know he’s a psychopath like _you._ So I’d like to know just exactly who he is before I let him onto my crime scene.” Anderson hissed right back, trying to look intimidating. He looked like a petulant child instead.

“Fine, want to know who I am? I’m Victor Trevor, one of Sherlock’s oldest _friends,_ and not a psychopath. If you want to check that go talk to my S.O, who happens to be one of the heads of MI5, I’m sure she’ll be _happy_ to waste precious time assuaging your pathetic little fears about who I am. If you’re clever though, you’ll believe me and let us through, so we can do your job for you, because you seem incapable of doing it without moaning and bullying your colleagues.” Victor had the same look he had on his face when facing down criminals, angry, with a _hint_ of ‘I’ll kill you in your sleep’. The words shut Anderson up, shut everyone up in fact, leaving them all to stare at him.

Now he had done it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for leaving so many kudos, and for commenting, on this fic, it means a huge amount!   
> Also, quick warning - I may not update on Sunday. I'll try my best, but I've got an incredibly stressful day on Saturday, on top of an already very stressful week, so I may be too exhausted. I'll do what I can, but it may just have to wait until Tuesday, sorry if it does!


	27. Chapter 27

26 Sherlock's POV

The silence was deafening when Victor finished speaking, nobody had expected Victor to say that. He hadn’t said much before at any of our crime scenes, only really asking questions while staying out of the way, observing like I did. Nobody had expected him to say something like that, especially about who he was. I didn't even know how to follow on from that, didn't know how everyone was going to react to it.

Would they start ‘jokingly’ saying that he was here to keep an eye on me, so I didn't start hurting people? Or that he was an undercover operative gathering intelligence? Would they think that Victor was lying? I didn't know, I didn't know and it _scared_ me. I just wanted to go to a crime scene and _work,_ not have all of this going on. I just wanted to work, this wasn't working, this wasn't what work should have been!

“MI5?” Anderson whispered first, mouth gaping open.

“Oldest _friend?_ ” Donovan decided to say instead.

“Yes you heard him right. Now if you would all stop gaping like moronic fish and get on with your jobs, we can actually solve this murder, like we’re supposed to be.” I cut in before anything else could be said, “Lestrade, where is the body?”

“Body, yeah... this way.” Lestrade snapped back to action, leading us through to the scene, where things got more normal.

It took me a day to deduce and track down the killer, though there wasn't a nice a chase involved in the end. The stupid man gave himself up the minute we burst in, which was incredibly disappointing, I had been hoping for some sort of chase, to shake off everything else. I could still feel my skin crawling from all the stares caused by members of Scotland Yard. It seemed like Victor’s admission was enough to make everyone start staring at us more. Less was said about our relationship, but there were still stares, and lots of them, in fact.

Nobody could seem to believe that Victor was a spy for MI5, why though I didn't know. It wasn't like he didn't look the part, or act like it. What was so shocking about it, I didn't know. It wasn't like spies were top secret, they were _around,_ and they did have lives outside of their jobs. Victor had just happened to decide that he wanted to spend some down time with me, and watch what I did. There was nothing wrong with that. there shouldn’t be anything wrong with any of this.

“Are all your cases like that? Cause that was rather fun, I wasn't expecting it to be that quick, though.” Victor grinned as we trudged up the stairs to 221b.

“There’s usually a chase.” I answered, I had _wanted_ one. I wanted that adrenaline rush, wanted to have the world blank out to the point where the only things I was thinking about was where the killer was running and how to block them off so I could arrest them. I needed that blankness, now, needed to feel that freedom. Everything felt like too much, I needed to stop my brain for a while, and nothing was giving me that opportunity!

“Damn, maybe next time then!” Victor stopped grinning like a moron when he noticed my mood, “What’s wrong, usually solving a good puzzle cheers you up?”

“I’m fine Victor.” I didn't want to talk about it, what I wanted to do was go somewhere quiet, away from other human beings and _breathe_ for a bit. No staring, no chance of more mocking accusations, no need to put on a front. Hopefully somewhere where I could stop all these thoughts and _feelings._ It was driving me up the _wall_ to feel so much.

“No you’re not, what’s up Sherlock?” Victor’s hands tried to grab for my own, I pulled them away.

“I said I’m fine!” I growled at him, falling onto the sofa and curling myself in a ball, facing the back cushion, wanting to hide away. The sofa wasn't the best hiding place, but at least I knew exactly where Victor was, and didn't have to deal with him picking the lock to my bedroom door.

“No you’re not. What’s up?” Victor crouched down behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. I’d give him one thing, he was certainly more tactile and patient than John was with these moods.

“Figure it out, you’re supposed to be clever.” I wasn't going to talk about it, and I certainly wasn't going to admit to people _staring_ at me was the reason for my mood. It was just some staring; I should have been bloody well used to it. And yet I wasn't.

“It’s what the Yarders were saying, isn’t it?” Victor sighed.

“Hit the nail on the head, well done you, there’s hope for your deductive skills yet.” I said sarcastically.

“I’m going to ignore that in favour of saying this: Sherlock, they are cruel human beings, who don't understand you, or me, or anything outside of what they know. They see you and fail to see that you’re extra-” Victor started.

“Spare me the speech Victor, my mother gave me the same one on a weekly basis during my childhood, I can practically _quote_ the thing.” I didn't need those stupid words again. The same old ‘you’re extraordinary Sherlock, they’re all just jealous that they don't have a brain like yours’ speech was getting _old_ now, especially after so many bloody repetitions of it. I didn't care anymore.

“Sorry, just trying to help.” Victor apologised.

“Well don't, I don't need your help.” What I needed was to be left the hell alone to deal with this crap by myself. I didn't need somebody telling me all the same platitudes from childhood, or to treat me like some irreparably broken person, just because of a few insults and stares.

“You do, you just don't want to admit to it.” Victor moved, shifting to lay on the sofa too.

“What are you doing?” I wasn't getting off this sofa, so he could forget about trying to get me to move off it.

“Well I can’t tell you how you are loved by me, so I’m showing you,” his arms wrapped around my middle, “And, you liked it when I held you last time, I thought I’d give it another go.” With that, he fell quiet, leaving me think about what the _hell_ Victor was trying to achieve here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a bit early because I've got a busy day tomorrow. So sorry I didn't update yesterday, Saturday/the entire week was incredibly stressful and I was exhausted. Hopefully won't happen again until I go back to uni!


	28. Chapter 28

27 Sherlock's POV

Victor didn't actually _do_ anything, he just laid with me and held on. At first it was rather annoying, I could hear him _breathing_ and _thinking,_ which was incredibly off putting. Yet, somehow, after a while, it got a bit better. Victor wasn't fidgeting, or moving that much at all really. He was just lying there and breathing, and the rhythm of it was rather soothing if I was honest. It was cold in the flat, too, so his warmth was quite welcome at this moment anyway.

“Feeling better now?” And he had to go and ruin it.

“I don't _feel_ anything. I don't need to be made to feel _better._ ” I didn't need to be held, or mollycoddled, or treated like some over-emotional _child_ because of some upsetting comments.

“You do, they hurt you.” Victor sighed, “They don't know, do they?”

“Know what?” if he was going to try and talk about my _condition,_ and try and convince me to _tell somebody else_ about it, I was going to kick him out. _Nobody_ needed to know what I was like, or about any diagnosis I had been given. It wasn't important, I didn't care, and it _was not relevant_ to my job. All that mattered was that I could deduce a crime scene, nothing else mattered. Nothing else about me mattered, the only important thing was my deductions and my experiments. Nothing else.

“You know what. None of those people at the Yard know about your diagnosis.” Victor was going to be on thin ice if he continued.

“They know I’m a sociopath.” I had told them that enough times, had told them to _do their research_ enough times too.

“Sociopaths aren’t a thing Sherlock, the whole diagnosis got debunked years ago. I’m talking about what’s _actually_ going on in there,” Victor tapped my head with a long finger, “What the doctors actually diagnosed in you when you were five.”

“Six. And it’s none of their business. I don't need to tell them anything about what’s wrong with me.” I got off the sofa, heading towards the violin, feeling like I needed it. Playing was calming, and a good distraction. The steel under my fingers was something I could control, something I could focus on, and I really needed something else to focus on if Victor was going to be talking about this.

“It’s not something wrong with you, it’s just part of who you are.” Victor sighed again, remaining seated.

“If it’s diagnosable, it’s something wrong,” I should have known, I’d been made to feel like that my entire life, “And anyway, it’s still not any of their business. It doesn’t affect how we work together, or how I conduct my investigations. It doesn’t affect anything with them, so they don't need to know.” The less the Yard knew, the better. They didn't need to know anything about my condition, about who I was, or anything. The more I gave to them, the more they had to mock and ridicule. It was best to give them as little as possible, to put on a front and hide away the undesirable parts of myself. I didn't need to show anyone anything.

“Not even Lestrade? Can’t you trust him with this at the least?” Victor pushed on.

“So he can do what exactly? Tell everybody else and say that it’s not okay to mock me constantly and call me a _psychopath_ simply because I’m _autistic?_ Or so he can treat me differently, like I’m made of glass and need my hand held everywhere I go? So he can act like I’m a child who needs supervision? So he can _pity_ me constantly? I don't think so Victor.” I wasn't having it, I wasn't going to let more people in on this and let them treat me like I was _different._ I was done with being treated like I was _special needs_ constantly, done with the supposed ‘adults’ acting like I couldn't handle myself, done with everybody acting like they knew what was best for me when they didn't!

I was in charge of me, I knew what was best for myself, I knew me better than anybody else! And if I didn't want others to know why I was like I was, then it was within my rights to _not tell anybody!_ I didn't want to be treated like a child, to be condescended to all the time, I just wanted to be allowed to be me. I couldn't do that if everybody knew, nobody ever treated me like I was a human being capable of thought after they found out. I just wanted to be treated like a human being sometimes, even if I was hated by _everyone._

“Whoa, that’s not what I’m saying, I’m just saying that it may be an idea to te-” Victor stood, his hands in the air in surrender.

“I don't care what your idea is Victor! He’s not going to care for the reason behind it! He’s just going to hear the bloody diagnosis, just like everybody else! He’s going to hear that damn diagnosis and treat me like I’m some sort of _time bomb_ waiting to go off! I will never be treated like a human being again!” so many people had found out and acted like I was a time bomb, he wasn't going to do it too. I couldn't have Lestrade do it to me too.

\--                                                          

**_“Why did you tell them?! You didn't have to tell them!”_ **

**_“Your teachers had to know Sherlock, how else will they keep an eye on you? They had to know, so you could be properly cared for!”_ **

**_“But they told everyone! Now the whole school knows!”_ **

**_“That’s a good thing, so now your friends will know why you act the way you do at times.”_ **

**_“They’re not my friends! They’re not my friends and they never will be now! They think I’m even more of a freak now because of you!”_ **

**_“I was trying to do what was best for you.”_ **

**_“Well don’t! Don't try it! It doesn’t do anything but make me a target!”_ **

**_“I’m sorry Sherlock, I was trying to do the best for you.”_ **

**_“Stop trying, let me sort it out! Stop ruining everything!”_ **

**_“Whoa, okay Sherlock calm down. Don't freak out please, it was a mistake, don't have a freak out.”_ **

\--

“But you’re not being treated like a human being! You’re being treated like some sort of depraved murderer!” Victor argued, voice near shouting.

“I don't care! I don't care, alright?! It’s better than being treated like some sort of pitiable _freak._ ”I dropped the violin, heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Victor stopped me.

“Out. Don't wait up for me.” I grabbed my coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I needed air, to get away from this conversation. I had had enough of talking, of being told what was best for me, for having assumptions made about me, too. I had to be in charge of me for a change, instead of anybody else. I wasn't a child anymore, I was an independent adult, I refused to be treated like anything else.


	29. Chapter 29

28 Sherlock's POV

“Sherlock, I... Is everything okay? You don't usually stay here unless... well unless something is wrong.” Molly stuttered out, wringing her hands.

“It’s fine.” I wasn't talking about it with _Molly_ of all people. I wasn't talking about it with _anyone._ I wanted to be left alone for five God damn minutes, without being asked if I was _okay,_ or _did I need to talk about it?_ Or worse, being told that I needed to tell other people about personal things, simply because it would help them understand me or whatever bullshit they were coming up with this time.

“Are, are you sure? You look... it’s... did you have a fight with Victor?” Molly asked, deciding to busy herself with some work, arranging a cupboard or something.

“No.” It wasn't a fight, it was a disagreement because he was an _idiot_ who thought he knew what was best for me. People doing that had gotten me into this whole situation in the first place, had gotten me into some horrendous situations in the past. So I wasn't exactly fond of people trying to convince me that their opinion on a matter that did not concern them was more valid than my own.

“Okay, but... you... you look...” Molly stumbled over the words again.

“Molly.” I said in warning, I didn't want her opinion on top of everyone else’s right now, especially on not how I _looked._ I looked _fine,_ because I was fine, and I was _handling myself just fine,_ too.

“Sorry, I’ll just, go.” Molly stepped out of the room, leaving me to run more tests in the lab. It wasn't for any experiment, but it was keeping my mind occupied enough that I wasn't completely consumed with thoughts of Victor and the argument.

Why couldn't he understand? Why did he want to try and insist on me telling everybody that I had Aspergers? It was nobody’s business but my own; I didn't need to tell anybody. Even if I did, what would it do exactly? It wouldn’t stop them mocking me, or treating me like I was different. In fact, it would only make it worse, judging by past experience. Everything I did would be called into doubt, could I handle crime scenes, or handling evidence? Would I screw something up because I didn't function like a _‘normal human being?’_ Everybody would assume that they had to either be _extra nice_ to me because I was _fragile_ and needed _protecting,_ or they would go the other way and treat me like dirt. Bar me from crime scenes, the Yard, act like I shouldn’t be anywhere but some facility. Act like John and Victor were my carers, people I needed to hold my hand so I didn't have some sort of meltdown.

I hated it, hated the assumptions and the stupid way people treated me when they knew. If I wanted someone to know, I told them. If I didn't, I didn't say a word. And considering I didn't want to tell anybody, nobody knew. I was more than happy to let everybody think that I was a sociopath, it was better that way. It got me listened to, and while I was hated and misunderstood still, it was better than being condescended to.

I worked for hours, forgetting that time even existed. In the end, I don't know how long I stayed in the lab, working through a series of tests that had nothing to do with any case. It was testing for the sake of testing, something for my hands to do. Something to distract me with. Something for me to focus on so I didn't go and find Wiggins to shoot up with.

“Still in here? Sherlock it’s time to go home.” Molly came back in. She was wearing different clothes, and her hair was styled differently. Oh.

“I’m busy, I will go home later.” When I was ready, not right now.

“You were just staring at a screen then, not doing anything.” Molly pushed on, why was she suddenly confident?! Couldn't she leave me alone?

“I was in my Mind Palace.” I lied, “It requires silence, and more importantly, _isolation,_ so if you would please.” I waved towards the door, hoping to shoo her away.

“You weren’t, it was a different look.” Molly hesitated, “You don't want to go home, do you?” she whispered.

“What gave you that idea?” I tried to sound disdainful, it didn't quite work.

“You haven’t sat down here for this long without a visit from anyone in a while. Since before J-... well, a few years anyway. And Victor hasn’t been down here with you, hasn’t even been near the hospital as far as I know... And you’re not working on a case right now, you’re running tests for the sake of it.” Molly explained.

“Fantastic deductions Molly, you’re now slightly better than the average policeman.” I deflected her again, getting up and turning to leave, not wanting to hear where she was going with this.

“You look sad again.” Molly stopped me in my tracks, “You looked sad, when John first went, before Victor turned up. But you...brightened up a bit around Victor, you were still sad, but you were happier. Now you look like, you look like you’ve lost something, like you have given up. Something happened.”

Damn, I always forgot that Molly was slightly more observant than the average person.

“I’m fine Molly; it’s just a tough few days.” I pulled my coat on, reaching for my scarf.

“I understand that but... go home Sherlock, _talk_ to Victor. He genuinely cares for you, whatever he did was out of love.” Molly sounded sincere enough, “And if it doesn’t work out then... well, my door is always open.”

“I will keep that in mind... thank you, Molly.” I left the room, her words buzzing in my ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know, I'll probably be updating Saturday instead of Sunday, as I'm having a day with my best friend.


	30. Chapter 30

29 Sherlock's POV

I decided to head home, thinking it for the best in the end. There was no point in avoiding Victor for much longer, otherwise he may have called in a search party or something else ridiculous. He knew me well, but he did worry when I disappeared for long periods of time. John hadn’t cared much, he had showed concern when I came home, made sure I ate and slept, but he didn't worry as long as I wasn't missing for more than three days. I wasn't sure what I preferred.

Stepping into 221b, I was immediately jumped on by a concerned Victor, being pulled close into an unexpected hug, hands wandering like they were checking for injuries.

“Oh Sherlock I was so worried! I didn't know where you had gone and you don't have a phone, and I don't have anybody else’s number! Where were you?!” Victor was saying, leaning back eventually to look me in the eyes.

“Bart’s, there were experiments I had to run.” I pulled away, away from those searching eyes, and the hand that had been resting on my cheek.

“Experiments you couldn't do here?” Victor asked, following me as I headed to my violin.

“No.” I answered, starting to play, nothing in particular, just whatever came to my head.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn't mean to pry in, or act like I knew the situation better than you. I’m sorry it came out that way, it wasn't my intention. I was just trying to help, to make this situation better for you, so you don't have to suffer through those morons at the Yard treating you like dirt anymore. I’m sorry what I said offended you, it really was not what I was trying to do.” Victor rushed to apologise, luckily not making me stop playing, or look at him.

“It’s fine Victor, it’s nothing I’m not used to.” Usually somebody just came in and did what they wanted, told others my diagnosis and expected me to thank them afterwards, like they had done be a favour. At least Victor tried to _talk_ to me first.

“I know, and it shouldn’t be that way. I should have remembered everything you have told me and stopped trying to butt in like that, I wasn't trying to take over your life, or anything of the sort. I was just trying to help, in the completely wrong way. I’m sorry.” Victor sounded sincere enough, and I knew when he was faking apologies, he had done it enough times to other people during some of our wilder days. This wasn't fake, this was a real one, he was genuinely sorry.

“Forgiven. But I won’t forgive you again.” I never liked forgiving people, it gave them a new opportunity to screw you over. But I did it for Victor, if only because I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Thank you... And I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but, I just want to say first, that after thinking back over our argument, I understand why you don't want to tell anybody about the Aspergers. After seeing how you were treated by your parents and everyone at university, I understand the need to keep things like this to yourself. Especially after what your brother has just done, and how Scotland Yard treat you,” we both winced at the mention, “But for what it’s worth, I don't think Lestrade would be that cruel to you. Even though I haven’t known him long, I can tell he sees you like a son, and he would accept you for who you are, and not change how he is around you.” Victor squeezed my free shoulder. I didn't agree with him there at all, at least not about Lestrade. He didn't see me like a son; he was just my handler, when things got a bit out of control. If Victor had picked up on anything, it was probably that I saw _Lestrade_ as an adoptive father figure. It certainly wasn't the other way around.

“If you say so. Now drop it, I don't want to talk about it anymore.” I still didn't want to talk _full stop_ right now. I just wanted _quiet_ and some damn peace. No stupid and pointless arguments filling up my brain, no insults being hurled my way, nothing like that. I wanted _quiet._

“Consider it dropped for now, but if you ever want to talk, about anything, I’m right here.” Victor gave my shoulder another squeeze, “I’m going to set about making dinner, fancy a stir fry?”

“That would be acceptable.” I fell into playing music, ignoring the outside world for a while.

The argument was still fresh in my head, but what was now intriguing was now Victor handled it. He _listened_ to me, and backed off when I wanted him to. Yes, he had pushed too far, and had one last try to get me to his point of view, but he wasn't pushing blindly ahead. He was listening to what _I_ wanted, and more importantly, respecting that. He had dropped the matter, and was now leaving me alone, without me having to say anything. I wasn't sure that had ever happened to me before.

John had always stormed out to have a walk during arguments, and had generally been angry with me for several hours after he had returned. He had never really apologised either, even when he was at fault. He just... He had been so different from Victor. Everybody was so different from Victor really. I felt like... I felt like Victor _understood_ more than most. He bothered to listen, and tried to see my point of view, he didn't push ahead with what he thought was right unless I was onboard with him, he respected my feelings. It was an odd thing to have, I wasn't entirely sure what to do with a relationship like this.

And when added to what Molly had said too, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be feeling about this. True, Victor made me feel better, and had been a mostly positive influence in my life recently. But I still missed John terribly, and couldn't help but feel how _alone_ I still felt after my discovery. I tried to hide it, but apparently I wasn't doing all too well. It was just so hard to move on, pretend like John had never existed, especially when I had Scotland Yard reminding me at every crime scene. I just, I didn't even know if I _wanted_ to move on and forget about it. I didn't know what I wanted at all.


	31. Chapter 31

30 Sherlock's POV

Victor didn't seem to mind when I left dinner untouched, though I couldn't be entirely sure on that front, as I was too busy thinking to pay attention to him. I was thinking about this entire situation, thinking about if I _did_ want to forget, if I wanted to move on. I still didn't know, wasn't sure at all of what I wanted.

In some ways, I wanted John back. I missed him terribly, and I missed our easy companionship. But at the same time, he had _lied_ to me for our entire relationship, and I didn't want to go through life with a fake friend who only stayed around because he was hired to do so. I’d had enough of people being friendly to me for their own personal gain, I wasn't about to go through life like that...  John though, I did _miss_ him. Sure, I had Victor, who was rather funny and useful in the crime solving department, but John was different. He had been... he was a puzzle, a soldier who killed, but a doctor who saved at the same time. He was haunted by the war, but enjoyed the battle too much to stay completely away. It was fascinating to try and work him out.

Then again, this could have all been Mycroft’s doing, creating a man who would serve as a companion and a distraction. I didn't know how much of John was made up and how much was his default personality showing through. It could have all been made up for all I knew, made specifically for me, so I stayed interested, didn't get bored, didn't scare him away again. That was what Mycroft had wanted after all, someone I wouldn’t push away, someone who stayed through thick and thin. A spy he could always rely on to have full access to me. I was suddenly rather glad I hadn’t divulged too much to John over our acquaintance, the results could have been disastrous.

Looking over at Victor for a minute, I did a quick comparison of the two. I trusted Victor, like I had John; I’d known the man longer, too. He worked for the secret service, solving crimes and taking down criminals in an entirely different way to me, and he wasn't boring. He wasn't haunted by what he had done, either, yes there had been kills in the past, and he had done things that no man should ever have to do, but Victor had been trained for it. He had been prepared for the eventuality and gotten on with the job.

Victor hadn’t ever mocked me either, at least not without knowing that I’d mock him right back. He’d never run away from my deductions, or my intellect, in fact invited me to do it to him on occasion. He was a skilled fighter, and tactician, fluent in several languages, beautiful dancer, and intelligent himself. In arguments, he let me speak, listened to what I said and respected it. And didn't decide what was best for me and do whatever it was he had planned without my consent. In some ways, he was quite like me.

I should have been bored of him, should have been so utterly _bored_ of him. I should have hated him, hated how he handled me, how he took everything in his stride, how he dropped everything to be with me again, how he fit in so well. And I didn't, I didn't hate him, or anything he did. Yes I was _jealous_ of his people skills, but everything else about him, I didn't hate. I appreciated a lot of what he did. He paid the rent, helped solve crimes with me, didn't moan about various experiments around the flat or my violin playing. He cooked, he cleaned, he got the shopping in. And he _talked_ to me, treated me like a friend, like a true, real friend. Even when I wasn't paying much attention, Victor was still talking to me.

“And that reminds me of that time we were at your parents house, the rest of your family were away for the week somewhere or other, and it was just the two of us. Even though we had the entire house to ourselves, we ended up spending most of our time in your room, studying. Well, I say studying, I mean you lecturing me on the pros and cons of going for a job at MI5 and how stupid they all were. I thought it was hilarious, and you didn't get why I found it so funny. I must admit most of your rants make a lot of sense, but using the argument that _travel_ was involved in being a spy, and that that was a bad thing was so funny I had to laugh.” He was saying right now, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork, smiling away to himself.

“I didn't say that _travel_ was a bad thing, but the plane and trains were. That and the _people._ ” I repressed a shudder in reply. Planes and trains were not my thing in the slightest. Too many people, too many deductions, and far too much of _everything_ involved. Cabs, they were better, everybody was moving too quickly outside the taxi for many deductions to be made.

“Ah, back with me again then?” Victor smiled at me, “You were miles away.”

“I was thinking.” I defended myself.                           

“Duh, I knew that. Solve anything while you were up there?” Victor asked, poking a finger into my forehead.

“Not as much as I had hoped.” I admitted, it still felt _safe_ to admit things to Victor. To admit that I couldn't solve everything, that I couldn't do _everything_ myself. He understood more than most, and had a history of not judging me for my limitations.

“Ah, well maybe the answer will come to you later. Now how about some dinner? It’s probably gone cold, but I can heat it for you.” Victor stood, heading towards the microwave.

He was so damn kind, and he wasn't doing any of this to get something out of me. He was simply being my _friend._ He was genuinely being my _friend._

“Sure.” I found myself smiling at the realisation. It didn't solve my conundrum, or make things any clearer in my mind. But, I found that it was... _nice,_ to have someone in my corner. Who was genuinely my friend. it felt... _good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, it means a huge amount!


	32. Chapter 32

31 John's POV

Without asking for it, Mycroft kept me updated on Sherlock’s life. Why he actually let me monitor his brother I don't know, but he periodically sent me updates. It was all in photo form, showing Lestrade and Mrs Hudson outside Baker Street, as well as the few shots of Victor leaving the flat. Sherlock didn't seem to be leaving as often, and when he did, it was usually with Victor in tow.

They weren’t going to crime scenes yet, they seemed to be mostly wandering together, it sort of looked like Victor was exploring London, and taking Sherlock for the ride. Smart move that, Sherlock knew every back alley there was to know in London. If there was something in London Sherlock didn't know about, it wasn't worth knowing. And I guess it made sense to go out like that, if they ever both went out together on a case, Victor would need to know everything about London.

But I couldn't help but feel so _jealous_ as I looked at all the photos. It used to be me wandering London with Sherlock, me getting the shopping in, me getting the takeaway from the delivery guy, me doing everything. Now Victor seemed to be doing most of it. It was like he had just slipped into my place and taken over, completely effortlessly. Who even _was_ this guy anyway?! And why was he such good friends with Sherlock?! And why was Sherlock ever letting him near him?!

Sherlock was usually so guarded, so closed off. It was like he was behind a wall of ice a lot of the time, and nobody was allowed in. I had been given glimpses, but even I had to work for it at first. With Victor, it seemed like he had just slipped in and taken over without even trying. And yes, I knew they had a past, but _this much_ of a past? A past where they were both able to spend so long away, then come back as close as before? Where Victor could take over from me without even trying? I didn't... I hadn’t even _heard_ of the man until he turned up.

Sighing, I looked through the most recent package of photos. Sherlock looked healthy, I guessed. Bit on the thin side, but he always had been, and he’d lost weight since I’d... left. He didn't look happy though, like he was sulking on his way to wherever he was going. Victor was with him, dressed casually in jeans and an expensive shirt.

The photos documented the two of them heading towards Leister Square, where they met Lestrade, who was holding a file. The three talked, Sherlock looking decidedly unhappy for a while, until something perked him up. Victor seemed excited, too, Lestrade relived. It must have been a case or something.

They were solving cases together, God, they were now _solving cases_ together. I didn't think it would hurt so much to watch Sherlock do these things with someone else, someone who wasn't me. But it did, it hurt so much. I hadn’t ever considered leaving Sherlock before this all happened, I thought I was going to stay with him for the rest of my life. Even when it had started out as a sort of job, I’d always thought that it would be forever. I’d never factored in the idea that one day I wouldn’t be with Sherlock, watching someone else take my place.

And it hurt, it hurt so much. I didn't think it would, but it did. God, Sherlock was _moving on,_ and while it was sort of a good thing, I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to move on from me, didn't want him to start living life without me again. What we had had been special, so damn special. Once in a life time, never going to happen again, special. That was why Mycroft had picked me to be with Sherlock, out of everyone in the world, he knew that I would have worked best with him. And now it had gone wrong, all because we got sloppy. _Fuck,_ we should have never have gotten sloppy like this.

Because watching was _awful,_ sitting in a tiny bedsit again, looking at the photos of my best friend being friends with someone else, it hurt. Especially when I knew I couldn't talk to him, Sherlock didn't even have a _phone_ anymore, and he wasn't picking up as it was. I’d tried Mrs Hudson too, but she hung up on me straight away, and Lestrade had turned down the call. Molly had ignored my texts completely as well, _nobody_ wanted to talk to me. I’d fucked up, fucked up so badly, and if I could just _explain,_ then maybe things could be better. But how could I when nobody would talk to me?

I could go down to Baker Street, I guessed. But would that really be a good idea? Anything could happen if I went down there. But did I really have another choice? There was no other choice available to me right now to get Sherlock to listen. And I _had_ explain, had to tell him why this all happened. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn't at least try to get him to listen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, and thank you for all the encouraging things you've said, it means so much to me!


	33. Chapter 33

32 Sherlock's POV                                             

“And of course, the killer practically signed their _name_ on the crime scene by leaving foot prints behind. Even by weighting their shoes, they didn't throw us off enough. If he wanted to do that, he should have used a brand new pair, so the wear marks were nonexistent.” I explained on the way home, after a rather fantastic case. Not that I didn't solve it in minutes, but at least the killer had _tried_ to be clever, which had given me pause for thought. Not for long, though, never for long. I was on _fire,_ not even Scotland Yard’s comments and stares had gotten me down today.

“Of course, I’ll keep that in mind if I ever go back to the secret service.” Victor smiled by my side.

“I don't see why you will, this has to be far more fun than repeatedly foiling espionage attempts.” It had always sounded so _boring_ to me, this was far more fun.

“Ah, but saving lives is important, too. And foiling plots by bad men and women saves a _lot_ of lives.” Victor pointed out.

“Yes but this is _far_ more fun, we take murderers off the streets, and sometimes we stop _bombs_ and other such things. It’s not just solving murder you know, there’s a lot more to it.” I bragged, “You just haven’t seen it yet, but it does happen. Those are the cases to live for, where things are so much more _interesting_ and there’s a time limit. That’s when you _really_ get pushed to the limit and everything sparks into so much more clarity.” I was walking backwards to look him in the face as I spoke.

“I have stopped a few bombs in the past, too you know, I know the feeling well.” Victor laughed at my enthusiasm, but it didn't feel like he was laughing _at_ me, it was more _with_ me. I wasn't used to that feeling, it didn't happen often. Not since John, at least.

“Yes but have you ever found out about the bomb _mid way_ through the case and had to a) find it and b) disarm it and then c) catch the culprit before they get away? I don't think so, now _that_ is one hell of a feat. And the post-case high lasts for _days_ after wards.” I promised, knowing I was probably smiling too much. But it was _good,_ discussing cases, solving new ones all the time, feeling that _companionship_ I hadn’t really gotten before. Not like with John, this was _real,_ completely real. So real and solid and built from _years_ of friendship.

We walked and discussed the whole way home, stopping for some Thai takeaway on the way, and I had to admit, I felt almost... _happy._ Was this what true happiness felt like? Was this what everyone else felt? Was this; was this what it was like to have a _friend?_ An actual friend too, a real one who wasn't picked out for you by someone else, who was a proper human being, who _understood_ you? Wow, no wonder others put so much importance into having friends. This did admittedly feel rather brilliant.

The feeling suddenly drained out of me the second we turned the corner onto Baker Street, and I saw a taxi outside 221. A taxi that _John Watson_ of all people was getting out of.

What the _hell_ did he want? What the hell did he think he was doing here?! I told him to get out and _never talk to me again,_ what the hell did he think he was doing by turning up?! My God this better not be an attempt to reconcile. I would not take that, no way in hell was I going to do _that._ Not with him, not with him, ever.

“Whoa, Sherlock, what’s up?” Victor stopped as I did, looking over to the departing cab, seeing John standing on the pavement. At least he had the presence to look nervous, if he had burst in as confident as usual I would have... I didn't know what I would have done but it would not have ended well for John. Ex-army doctor or not, he was no match for me when I was actually trying to hurt someone.

“Is that... oh my God what the _fuck_ does he think he’s doing here? Who the hell does he think he is?!” Victor grabbed my arm.

“I, I don't know.” I didn't know how to react, or what to say in this situation. What did I do? I’d never had anything like this happen! I hadn’t thought that John would turn up again! I figured Mycroft would reassign him to some other poor idiot in apparent need of _looking after_ and I’d never see him again! I didn't expect him to... fuck what was he _doing_ here?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, I love hearing your thoughts on what's going to happen next, and what you think about Victor!


	34. Chapter 34

33 John's POV

Getting out of the taxi, I took a deep breath, unsure of what exactly to expect from this. it all seemed so simple in my head, back at the flat. But now that I was here, at Baker Street again, determined to talk to Sherlock and explain, it seemed rather... _difficult._ Sherlock was stubborn, incredibly so. And once he had an idea in his head, nobody could change his mind. And he liked to have the last word, always had to have the last word in an argument, he would outlive God, just to prove a point. Getting him to listen to me was going to be a struggle, even when I didn't consider his new _friend_ in the mix.

I had no idea what this guy was like, he had to be useful to Sherlock, or he wouldn’t be here. Had to be skilled in crime solving, too, to be even considered to be taken on cases. I may have to fight that guy... shit. Without even meeting him I knew I wouldn’t be a match for him, at least not without my gun. I had training, but that guy was _MI5,_ the training they got was far beyond what I had.

No point in thinking about that right this second, though, first things first, getting into the building. If Sherlock was even _in_ right now. Apparently he had been leaving a lot, had stayed at Bart’s for three days recently. He only ever did that when he needed to get out and think about something for a while. Maybe this Victor wasn't actually working out; maybe he wasn't the right match for Sherlock. _Yes_ that could be an ‘in’ for me I could use, work it to my advantage to get me back on Sherlock’s side again.

No, straight back Watson, you invaded Afghanistan and dealt with _Sherlock Holmes_ for over a year, this will be just the same. Exactly the same. Only now I didn't have all the answers so I couldn't work it to my advantage, and Sherlock didn't trust me, but I just had to get him to listen, that was all. Just to listen, and everything would be fine. He just had to listen, to remember what we were together, and he’d let me come back. We were too good together, and he’d been happy with me, he wouldn’t give that up. I was his only chance at proper companionship and he knew it, he wouldn’t give that up, he was too lonely.

Right, into Baker Street, and therefore into battle. Here we go.

“You’ve got some nerve, showing up here.” A deep voice growled, I turned to see Sherlock and Victor. The _glares_ from the both of them were quite frankly terrifying. I’d _never_ seen Sherlock look so _angry_ before, never at anybody, even _Mycroft._ He hadn’t even looked this angry when I left. And his friend... Jesus, he was rather scary, too.

“Sherlock, before you say anything, just let me talk, I can explain everything to you.” I started before anybody else could speak. Always get in first, before anything could escalate.

“Save it, I’d rather not hear it.” Sherlock attempted to push past me.

“No wait, please I can explain _everything_ I swear. Just hear me out.” I stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“No!” my hand was shoved off, “Don't touch me, and don't even _attempt_ to explain your actions, I don't want to hear it.” the _anger_ in his voice, God I’d never heard such anger from him before.

“Sherlock _please,_ I can honestly explain, if you just let me. It wasn't, it wasn't all fake, okay? You were, _are,_ my best friend, please, let me explain.” I was begging, but I couldn't help it, I wanted him back. I wanted him back with me; I wanted to be back with him. He was, he was brilliant, and fantastic, and absolutely _insane_ in just the right way. I loved being with him, loved our cases, loved our entire lives together. Our meeting was set up, but the rest was so real, I didn't want that gone forever. I didn't want to go back to my flat, be lonely and without a challenge. I couldn’t just work in the A&E, it wasn't helping. The pain in my leg was coming back, the nightmares were coming back, I couldn't go back to that. Not again.

“Best friend?” Victor tsk’d, “If you call _lying_ and _spying_ on a man, while pretending to be someone you’re not is what you call friendship, then I’d hate to see what you would do with enemies.”

“It wasn't, I didn't _spy_ on him, or anything of the sort! We just, Mycroft set up our meeting, that was all!” I begged for them to believe me, to let me explain. If I could just _explain_ that what we did had been for the best, explain that I cared for Sherlock so much, that he was my best friend, despite what happened, then I could make it up to Sherlock! We could go back to how we were! Solving crimes, fingers in the butter, violin until 3am, no limps or nightmares, we could go back to that!

“ _Sure_ you didn't. I believe you, _thousands_ wouldn’t. Come on Sherlock, you don't want to talk to this guy.” Victor started to pull Sherlock away.

“Wait! Just let me talk! You and me Sherlock, just let me explain, I can explain everything, I swear.” I could, I swore I could. I just needed some time, and Sherlock needed to be willing to listen.

“ _Never_ will I listen to you again John. You _lied to me_ about _everything;_ I won’t stand for it again.” Sherlock turned away, heading into Baker Street.

“Sherlock _please,_ I can explain, and we can go back to how we were. We can go back to just being the two of us against the rest of the world. Don’t you want that?” surely he wanted that, he had wanted to be with me before, hadn’t liked me being with anyone else. He valued our relationship. He needed me, didn't have anyone else to fall back on. I was his one and only friend, he’d said it himself. He needed me.

“No, I don't. And I never will again.” Sherlock sighed, looking sad. So he did miss me! If he missed me, we could get back to how we were!

“But we’re best friends.” I whispered, it had always been the two of us, from the moment we met, there was _always_ two of us.

“No, we’re not. Not anymore. We never were.” Sherlock sighed... was he crying? There were, was he _crying?_

“Sherlock. Please, I need you.” I stepped to the door.

“Don’t come back here John. I don't want you here.” Sherlock closed the door, the lock clicking into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, it means a lot! Between your comments and writing this, along with other projects, is keeping me sane this year!


	35. Chapter 35

34 Sherlock's POV                                                               

I closed the door, leaning against it, feeling numb. Absolutely numb. I couldn’t... John hadn’t... why did he decide to turn up now? Why did he decide that _now_ was a good time to show up and try to talk to me? Why did he want to even try to _explain,_ and try to manipulate me into believing him? I couldn’t... I didn't have words. There were no words.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, come on, let’s get you upstairs, you look ready to pass out.” Victor gently pulled me up to 221b, sitting me on the sofa.

“He... I didn't think he would turn up.” I hadn’t expected him to show up, not after so much time. I thought he got the message. I didn't expect him to turn up again, he wasn't supposed to turn up and... and be so desperate, so _pleading._ He wasn't supposed to show up and make me miss him again.

“Neither did I, I figured he was smarter than that, but I guess not. Don't worry, though, the next time I see him, I’ll make sure that the bastard gets the message that he isn’t welcome here.” Victor squeezed my hands.

“He, he said he needed me.” just before I had closed the door, John had said that he needed me. and my God, I wanted to help him. I actually _wanted_ to help him. what was wrong with me? I couldn't help _John,_ he wasn't my responsibility, he wasn't my friend. I couldn't help him, I wasn't supposed to help him. Not anymore, he wasn't my friend, he hadn’t ever been my friend, I didn't need to help him, _I shouldn’t want to help him._

“What?” Victor asked.                                                       

“John said, he said that he needed me.” I felt the numbness turn to derision, of course, _of course_ that’s why he came back, “He needs me for something, so he came back to use me again. Notice that the cane was back? He’s probably craving the adrenaline of our cases again, he needs it to function normally, he can’t do anything without it. He’s probably experiencing his PTSD symptoms again, and wants to come back and fix himself again.”

That had to be it, John just wanted me to help him feel better again, that was all. I should have guessed, it was obvious really. That’s what everybody else did with me, use me for their own gain, only to toss me to the side again when they were done. How _typical,_ and disappointing to see John turn into another Sebastian Wilkes.

Yet still, some part of me wanted to help, wanted to make things up and have things go back to way they were. John and Sherlock, the two of us against the rest of the world, the unstoppable team. I _wanted_ him back, but I _didn't_ want him back. I wanted... I didn't know what I wanted more!

“If he even _has_ PTSD. Don't forget that Mycroft hired him.” Victor continued, he had a point there, too.

“Very true. So either he wants something, or Mycroft does, and he thinks that a reunion with John will make me more likely to work for him again. Highly unlikely,” I snorted, “If my brother thinks I’m so gullible that I’ll fall for _that_ then he is sorely mistaken.” I would _never_ work for my brother again, or accept any apology from either he or John. They could try, but I was _not_ going to give in. The two had deceived me for too long, I wasn't going to fall for it again. I wasn't going to let myself be manipulated again, or treated like I was an idiot. Like their attention was enough to make me do their bidding. Not again, not after a life time of being used. No matter how much I missed John, I wasn't going to allow it. No way. Not in a million years. He wasn't... it just _wasn't_ happening.

Now if only John got that message. He decided that _now_ was the time to be annoyingly persistent and stubborn. John turned up every day, standing outside Baker Street, rain or shine, refusing to leave until I talked to him. Mrs Hudson tried shooing him away to no avail, Victor tried to physically remove him, but John just turned up again the next day. He refused to leave until he spoke to me. But I wasn't going to let him, I didn't _want_ to talk to him, didn't want to hear what he had to say.

I didn't want to hear about how he and Mycroft concocted their plan to create our friendship, didn't want to hear how John came up with the person I knew, how our entire friendship was based on a _lie._ And I certainly didn't want to hear how he now needed my help. I wasn't falling for it again, I wasn't going to fall for the same shit _again._ I was done with being used like that, with being treated like crap, with being treated like I was an _idiot._ I wasn't going to hear it, wasn't going to hear any of it. I refused.

But John being outside was getting incredibly annoying now. I needed to go out, to go to crime scenes, to the morgue, and other such places. I couldn't do that as easily with John standing there outside, or sitting on the door step, whatever came to his mind first. At least I could be thankful that Mrs Hudson wasn't letting him into her flat, or that would be an even worse problem. But still, climbing out of the bedroom window and heading out the back alley every time either Victor or myself left was rather tedious. It took out some of the excitement from the case, because it was another reminder that the person I used to do all this with was _outside,_ and I couldn't move on until he had gone.

“Well, maybe you should talk to him. Maybe you should listen to him, just this once. He may take the hint and fuck off if you listen.” Victor suggested, “And if not, well, let’s just say I have some contacts, who know how to solve stubborn _problems_ for people.” His grin was wicked.

“Now you sound like Mycroft.” I shuddered, rathering to not think of Victor being similar to that twat, “And I don't _want_ to talk to him. I don't want everything to be confirmed. I know what happened, and I’m not going to listen to him telling me the same thing, only in a _kinder_ way to try and manipulate me into helping him.” it would be hilarious to think that John could manipulate me into doing anything, but clearly he could fool me for an extended period of time, so I wasn't about to risk it.

“Ew, and fair enough. I was just suggesting it, to see if it got rid of him.” Victor sighed, “What do you propose to do then?”

“Out wait him. He’ll get bored and get the message.” John would, he was stubborn, but he wasn't as stubborn as me.

“Sure about that?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“Sure. John knows when he is defeated, and knows when he isn’t going to win.” I was going to win this, and by winning, I meant not letting him get away with this in the slightest, and continuing life _happily_ without him.

“Not like you to not fight back.” Victor commented.

“Not like you to question my decisions.” I countered.

“Good point. But usually you’re more active in fighting back.” Victor replied.

“Sometimes to win you have to sit back and do nothing. Even silence sends a message, Victor; you should know that by now.” I wasn't going to talk to him, really, I was not going to do it. You would have to pay me. And even then I would only consider it. I wasn't talking to John. No way.

So why did I want to anyway? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos once again, I love hearing what you think, and who Sherlock should end up with in the end!


	36. Chapter 36

35 Mycroft's POV

I had to give it to John; he was rather persistent in trying to talk to Sherlock. He wasn't taking no for an answer from anyone, including myself and Sherlock. I tried to tell him that Sherlock was not in the mood to talk to him, and probably would never be, but John continued to wait outside Baker Street. He must have figured out that Sherlock and Victor were leaving via the back, too, but he remained out the front, probably trying to gain some ‘brownie points’ as he would put it. He was being intrusive and demanding, but not _too_ forceful, letting Sherlock come to him when he was ready. It could almost be called admirable, if it wasn't for the fact that he was in the position in the first place because of me.

I still stood by my decision, though, still was firm in my belief that Sherlock had needed help in finding himself a friend. If I hadn’t have sought one out for him, he would have surely died within a few years. I was sure of it. I had calculated Sherlock’s demise coming to him by the age of thirty five, without a friend to keep him reasonably out of trouble. Thirty five was no age to die, especially not alone, probably done in by a criminal. Sherlock was too proud to commit suicide, but death by criminal was definitely to his taste. I had absolutely no doubts in my mind that he would have died before his thirty sixth birthday.

But, under John’s care his estimated death had _doubled,_ I calculated that with John, Sherlock would have survived to seventy, if not _longer,_ as long as nothing too untoward happened to him. So _of course_ I stood by my convictions! I wasn't about to _let_ him die young when I could prevent it! If that meant lying to him, then I was going to do it. Especially when the lie made him so damn _happy,_ and stopped our parents from worrying so much. The worried phone calls from Mummy had dropped by a third since John’s arrival. I dreaded telling her about this development, no doubt she would put her nose in and _meddle,_ and Sherlock’s reaction would no doubt be explosive. Maybe Redbeard levels. God not another Redbeard moment.

“Are you okay Sir? You look... tired.” Anthea asked, handing me a file. The report on Turkey, I would peruse that later.

“Just fine, Anthea.” I answered her, changing the monitor screens to something less incriminating. She may have known how protective I was, but I rathered she didn't know how badly I was worrying.

“Are you sure Sir? You have been watching the Baker Street feeds for the last hour, and you seemed more lost in thought than usual.” She hesitated, “And you usually don't drink on the job.” she nodded towards the tumbler of whiskey on the table.

“Well sometimes it is needed, when one’s brother could explode at any moment.” I hissed, I could just imagine it now, Sherlock allowed John to explain and having a major meltdown. A Sherlock meltdown could cause an untold amount of damage. I would have preferred to not have to send in reinforcements, or give Sherlock another psychiatrist... or another trip a facility. But if he reacted so badly as to get back on the _sauce_ again, well, I would have no choice. Victor couldn't stop him last time, and MI5 didn't exactly train to deal with genius drug addicts with Aspergers Syndrome.

“Maybe we should remove Doctor Watson from the equation for a while, so the meltdown doesn’t happen.” Anthea suggested, for someone who could see so much, she sometimes came up with stupid ideas.

“No point, John would just come back the minute we released him. He will not give up until he talks to Sherlock.” why did I chose someone so damn stubborn? Oh yes, because Sherlock was just as stubborn and he needed someone who wouldn’t bend over the second he got the slightest bit annoyed.

“True. So what do we do?” Anthea asked, she had grown to care for Sherlock, in her own way, over the years. She had been assisting me in looking after him for years, and had been fielding calls from Mummy and Daddy for the same amount. She understood the pressure well enough, and the importance in stopping incidents.

“I,” I looked back at the monitors, flicking them back to Baker Street, where a _very_ determined looking Sherlock was stalking down.

“Five minutes, that’s _all_ you have. I want to know _everything,_ and if I don't like want I hear, I want you _gone_ forever.” He hissed in John’s face, storming up the stairs.

“Prepare for a meltdown, apparently.” I couldn't control this situation, could only pray that John did the right thing and did not mess this up. Sherlock needed his friend back, and needed normality, and if John said just one word wrong, that would never happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments again, they mean so much!


	37. Chapter 37

36 Sherlock's POV                                                                                    

John _would not go away,_ he was outside _constantly,_ and never went away, even when we told him to. Victor was threatening violence, and while that would have been _vastly_ entertaining, I didn't want to see former and current friends fight, or see either of them hurt. No matter how much one of them had hurt me.

Still, it was infuriating to see him outside every day, waiting for me to give up and listen to him. I didn't _want_ to listen to him, and yet I felt like I would have to at this rate, if not just to get rid of him. I was loathe to admit it, but John may have been more stubborn than me in this situation. Fuck, how the hell had _that_ happened? I was the stubborn one, the one who never backed down from _anything,_ who, as John had once said, would outlive God to have the last word. And now _John_ was making me back down?

Made sense really, it was John Watson, after all. The exception to _every_ rule it seemed. Even when he turned out to be a lie he was still breaking all the rules. No wonder Mycroft thought he was perfect for me, I liked a challenge usually. This time I just wished the challenge went _far_ away and left me the hell alone.

With that decision, I stormed down the stairs and outside to a relatively quiet Baker Street, where John was still standing. Cane in hand, leg playing up again, hadn’t slept for a full night in a long time, probably thanks to nightmares. _Good._

“Sherlock.” John started.

“Five minutes, that’s _all_ you have. I want to know _everything,_ and if I don't like what I hear, I want you _gone_ forever.” With that, I stormed up the stairs, leaving the door open. John could take the offer or leave, and quite frankly, I preferred it if he _left_ it.

“Sure about this?” Victor asked as John ascended the stairs.

“No, but if it gets him out of here and out of my life for good, I’m willing to take it.” I took a deep breath, preparing to hear the ‘truth.’ The truth of John’s deception, how he was hired, that he couldn't stand me anymore than anyone else could, and that he _needed_ me because he was in pain. Always the way, _always_ that damn way. Apologies for bad behaviour, then asking for my help.

“Sherlock, I just... I’m not sure where... I,” John stumbled in, leaning his weight on his ‘bad’ leg. Sensing danger already, already into battle stations. _Vatican Cameos_ and all that.

“John I suggest you stop stumbling over your words and get your explanations out. I meant it when I said you had five minutes.” I glared at him, I didn't have time for this act, for all this stumbling and mumbling. I wanted this _over,_ so I could kick him back out again and forget that this had ever happened.

“Right, yeah... sorry, I just, you know what I’m like, I... I’m not good with this sort of stuff.” John flashed a smile, I did not return it. I didn't want to see his _smiles_ or anything.

“Funnily enough, I _don't_ know what you’re like. You’re hired help from my brother, a supposed _carer_ for me, made specifically to keep me _happy,_ ” I spat the word out, like I needed _happiness_ to live, “so drop the act and get on with it. The clock is ticking.”

It hurt to be so blunt, to not be allowing John room to move. I usually allowed him _some_ time to get his thoughts together, or to get himself under control. But that was before I found out about his lies, so right now I did not want to hear it. I didn't even want to hear _this_ explanation, but I had no other choice but to listen to it. So I was dealing with it, but if my so called _friend_ couldn't get his words out, then I wasn't about to stand around listening to him.

“Sorry, sorry. Just let me think!” John pleaded.

“No, you have been standing outside my flat for over a week, obviously there is a reason for this. You have had time to plan what you want to say so _say it._ ” I watched as John pulled himself together, standing straighter, more alert.

“Alright, I’ll get on with it, Jesus. It would help if you both let up on the glares, it feels like I’m on the firing line.” John glanced wearily at Victor.

“What can I say? I don't like people lying to my friends.” Victor hissed, luckily not touching me. He’d learnt better than that by now.

“Four minutes John.” I reminded the short man, snapping his attention back to me.

“Right, okay, from the beginning. I was invalidated out of the army, thanks to a shot to the shoulder, it left me in a... well, a complete mess if I’m honest. I was lost, stuck with a psychosomatic limp I couldn't shift, a terrible therapist and an alcoholic sister. There wasn't much I could do, it felt like everything was pointless,” John paused for breath.

“Skip the sob story please, I know I read _that_ right on you when we first met.” Mycroft couldn't make someone fake all of John’s issues that well, those were real, I’d read them in the file.

“Of course, I just... it was all pointless... until Mycroft picked me up. I’d just been coming out of my therapist’s office, when the phone rang. As in the phone booth, he told me to look at the streets security cameras, as he moved them so they weren’t staring at me anymore, then he told me to get into this blacked out car. So, I got in, and his assistant brought me to this warehouse, where he told me that he had an assignment for me. He said that I had a skill set, a skill set that he could utilise. I told him that I hadn’t done any black ops or anything in the army, but he said that wasn't what he wanted me for. He needed an incredibly tolerant sharp shooting doctor, who could look after someone for him.” John paused again.

“He said that he needed someone who could look after his younger brother, who _desperately_ needed a friend, who was in a terrible situation. Mycroft, he... he wanted someone to keep up with you, who could tolerate your moods, deductions and lack of social skills, who could keep you safe in a fight, who could make sure that you were well fed and taken care of. He told me that you didn't have anyone else, that you hadn’t had anybody else for years, that without someone, you wouldn’t last longer than a few more years. You have to understand, Mycroft was _so worried_ about you, he was certain that you were going to die in a few years, that those few years would be _miserable_ for you, and he wanted to change that. He wanted to give you happiness, to prolong your life, and to give you a friend.” John stepped forward, reaching out, I stepped back.

“So you agreed? Agreed to be my _friend_ and _carer,_ to patch me up when I needed it, to humour me with all of my experiments and deductions, to make me feel _clever_ and _special?_ Did he train you up, tell you all of my dirty little secrets so nothing shocked you, get you to report back to him so he knew my every move? I bet he did, I bet you two _laughed_ at me behind my back, laughed at my _little antics_ and how I hadn’t worked out the truth yet. Was it fun? I bet it was, I bet it was _hilarious._ ” It hurt, it hurt _so much_ to hear John explain why Mycroft had hired him. I couldn't, there was just so much _pain_ inside me to think that Mycroft thought I couldn't find someone who could tolerate me.

He took away my right to choose to be alone, to make my own friends my own way, to die when _I_ wanted to. It was my right to decide whether or not I was miserable, or lonely, or useless without someone. He had taken away _all_ of it, and replaced it with what _normal_ people had, let me feel how things could be for _normal_ people. I bet he laughed as he watched me open up to John, as I let him in and got _better_ in his books. I bet he laughed and laughed, just like everyone else - look at the _freak,_ playing at being _normal_ and thinking he’s succeeding.

I could see it all playing in my mind, could see how it all played out. Mycroft’s own little experiment for his own entertainment, probably to please Mummy again. _Look Mummy I made him happy again, I made him talk to someone, I made him a normal human being, aren’t you happy?_

And he hadn’t even told me, he hadn’t even talked to me about getting someone, he had just planted someone in my life. Just like that, and he had expected me to go along with it _forever,_ to not find out for the rest of my life. I couldn't... there weren’t words for how I was feeling right now.

I just knew that I was so, _so_ tired of Mycroft’s meddling, of John’s explanation, of everyone thinking that I was _useless_ as a human being. Of everyone thinking that I was so damn pathetic I couldn't even make friends, even I wanted to. Of everyone thinking that I needed to be _given_ friends, and lied to about it. I was so tired, so damn _tired._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I missed Tuesday's update, I can't say it was my beta readers fault, as I actually already had this chapter beta'd. It's totally my fault, I forgot thanks to uni stress, I've just got my time table in and it's suddenly hit me that it's my last year and that idea is terrifying!


	38. Chapter 38

37 John's POV

“No, no Sherlock we never laughed at you, or anything like that.” I insisted, we hadn’t laughed at him, ever! I would have _never_ even thought of laughing at Sherlock, or anything like that! I wouldn’t have ever done something like that to him, why would I laugh or mock him? Or do something like that?

“Don't lie John, it’s inane, I know what it’s like. Give the _freak_ a conversation and watch him _dance_ like some _puppet._ Watch him trust again, watch him turn more and more into a human being, and then _laugh_ behind his back for falling for it _again._ ” Sherlock teared up, my heart broke at the sight.

I’d never meant to make him cry, I’d _never_ meant to make him feel like this. He wasn’t... he didn't _deserve_ it; Sherlock was... He needed _help._ I wanted to go over and hug him, more than anything I wanted to hug him and promise to never, ever hurt him again. But I couldn't, if I did I didn't know what could happen. Mycroft had told me that he wasn't used to affection or physical touch when he wasn't stressed, let alone _now._

“We _never_ laughed Sherlock, or anything. All I did was try my best to look after you, and I reported back to Mycroft about danger nights and such stuff, that was _all._ I didn't mock you once.” I swore I didn't, I would _never_ do that to him.

“This entire relationship was a mockery!” Sherlock shouted,  heaving in breath as his hands yanked at his hair, “This _entire_ relationship was a lie and a mockery of me! You were _hired_ to be my _friend_ because my brother doesn’t think that I can do anything for myself! He doesn’t even think I can choose how I want to live!”

“We were trying to help you, you were miserable, we were only trying to make you happy.” I tried to explain, couldn't he see that we’d done it for the best? I had been hired to make him _happy,_ instead of miserable. “Don't you want to be happy?”

“Not with a _lie_ set up by my brother!” Sherlock started breathing too heavily, far, far too heavily.

“Whoa there Sherlock, don't have a meltdown.” All the signs were there, written in the file I had read two years ago. Meltdowns caused by huge stresses, meltdowns that needed to be stopped before things got bad.

“Okay, that’s the end of this conversation, get out.” Victor stepped in, gently taking hold of Sherlock's hands, “Hey, Sherlock, look at me. You’re safe, okay.”

“Not okay, it’s not okay. It’s not okay, he, he... it’s all a lie it wasn't real it’s never real.” Sherlock heaved out, wobbling on the spot.

“That wasn't, but I am. I am _here for you_ and not for anybody else. I’m going to touch your waist now, and sit you down before you fall, okay?” Victor was being ridiculously gentle.

“Sherlock breathe, come on, it’s okay. I was just explaining myself.” I came forward, Victor used a hand shove me back.

“I think you’ve done enough _explaining_ for a life time. Now get out before I _throw_ you out.” The glare the man gave me would have made a lesser man run for the hills.

“Who gives you that authority? I think you’ll find I was _invited_ in and this isn’t your house.” I glared right back.

“I gave me the authority when I moved in to fix what _you_ caused. None of this would have happened if you have been a _decent_ human being, instead of just another person using him for your own gain.” Victor stood to full height, towering over me even more than Sherlock did.

“Did you not just hear what I said?! I wasn't doing this for my own gain! I was doing this to keep _him alive_ like his brother wanted!” was this guy thick or something?! I’d been doing this to save Sherlock’s _life_ and bring him _happiness!_ I didn't see this guy doing the same thing, he certainly hadn’t been around when Sherlock needed him two years ago!

“And taking away his autonomy to decide for himself! If Sherlock wanted a friend, he would have gone out and _gotten_ one, just like everybody else does! He didn't _want_ a friend and was content as he was!” Victor argued, Sherlock whined from his chair.

“Oh really? And how was he supposed to do that exactly? Every other attempt he’d ever made had _failed_ in case you hadn’t noticed! Every flat mate he’d ever had had left within a _week_ because they couldn't stand him! I was hired because I could stand him for longer than that!” I could stand Sherlock’s antics and that was what he needed! He needed someone who could stand him, and that was _me,_ hence why Mycroft hired me in the first place!

“Well did you think that maybe he didn’t have the chance to make friends because he’s learnt not to trust anybody? After people like _you_ keep on coming along and using him for their own gain, all the while acting like they’re his _friend_ when really they couldn't care less about him! How do you think that feels, huh? How do you think it feels to be _used_ your entire life?” Victor explained in another shout.

“That’s not why I was here!” I hadn’t been here for me, I’d been here for _him!_

“Oh really, so regaining the use of your leg and getting rid of your PTSD symptoms was all a convenient side effect was it? I can hardly believe that.” Victor snorted, looking at me like I was dirt under his shoe.

“That was part of the deal, but that wasn't the main reason why I was here!” yes I liked the side effects this agreement had on me, but I’d been here for Sherlock for the main part!

“So why were you here then? Why were you here then? Why were you _hired?_ ” Victor spat the word out.

“Because Sherlock isn’t capable of making friends by himself!” I shouted, wasn't it bloody obvious? It was obvious to me! Sherlock wasn't bloody capable of making friends! He was going to be alone his whole life until I stepped in! He would have died alone in some alleyway by the age of thirty five if I hadn’t turned up!

A strangled cry came from the chair, we both turned to see Sherlock rocking back and forth, his hands covering his ears. We both rushed forward, but Victor stopped and shoved me away before I could reach my friend.

“You’ve done enough, so _get out_ before you make it worse.” He hissed, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“I’ll go when Sherlock wants me to leave, not you.” I squared up to him, I could make my own decisions, and I wasn't about to let some posh twat tell me what to do.

“GET. OUT.” Sherlock cried out, “GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!   
> Also I have a song recommendation for this chapter, it's called Lies by McFly and here's a link to the song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLpGgu5yozM - if you want to check it out. I think the chorus at the least really fits Sherlock's situation and POV at this moment!


	39. Chapter 39

38 Sherlock's POV                                                               

“GET. OUT. GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!” everybody had to leave! Everybody needed to leave right now and stop shouting and arguing and being _loud_ and not stopping! I couldn't take it! It hurt _everything_ to hear! My head was _screaming_ and my skin was crawling and everything was echoing! I couldn't do it, I couldn’t stand the sound!

“Okay, okay Sherlock, it’s alright. He’s gone now, he’s gone.” Victor whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“No! No, no!” it was too much, too much pain and suffering and words and noise and revelations. Far too much like when I was a child, so much like when I was a child.

\--                                  

**_“He’s not making friends Violet! He’s needs someone to talk to!”_ **

**_“Well what do you want me to do about it? The therapy isn’t working! What else could we possibly do?!”_ **

**_“I don't know, I don't have a clue.”_ **

**_“It’s not like he’s going to learn by himself, and he’s already screwed up his chances with the children at the school.”_ **

**_“I know, did you see how they treated him? Like he was diseased or something.”_ **

**_“If only we could cure_ this _disease.”_**

**_“If only, but we can’t. It looks like he’s going to be stuck like this forever, unless he actually listens to that therapist.”_ **

\--

“Okay, I won’t touch you. But I’m here for you, alright? I’m _right here,_ and I don't believe a word John said about you.” Victor told me.

“Shut up!” it was too loud, so damn _loud!_ I needed it quiet, I needed everything to be _silent_ and everyone to stop poking and prodding and talking and arguing! It all needed to stop! Everything needed to stop!

I panicked for so long, hearing the remaining shouts of the argument going round and round in my head.

**_“Keep on coming along and using him for their own gain, all the while acting like they’re his friend when really they couldn't care less about him!”_ **

**_“Because Sherlock isn’t capable of making friends by himself!”_ **

**_“Every flat mate he’d ever had had left within a week because they couldn't stand him!”_ **

It hurt, it hurt so much, I couldn't process the pain. I couldn't process any of it! John thought that, John thought that I wasn't capable of making friends, knew about all the old flat mates who left me, of every single person who used me for their own personal gain. He knew, he _knew_ and he _still_ did it himself. He did it too. He used me for his own gain. Used my danger to cure himself. Befriended me to make himself feel useful again.

It was all a _lie_ and I _hated_ it, _hated_ him. Hated everything, hated everyone. I hated it _all._

Eventually the panic turned to anger, which turned to tears, which turned to numbness. Pure numbness. I felt _nothing_ at this, not anymore. Should have seen it coming really. It’s not like it hadn’t happened before, it happened so many times, too many for me to count, really. It was the reality of my life. People needed my brain for whatever reason - exams answers, proof their other half was cheating, a scapegoat for their own pranks, someone to do their job for them, so they acted nice to me, got me on their side. I fell for it, to have _something_ that wasn't loneliness, did what they wanted, and I was instantly dropped the minute I wasn't useful anymore.

As soon as I wasn't useful, or was just out of perceived ear shot, I was something to be laughed at, to be mocked, to be treated like I was other people’s entertainment. People took pleasure in hating me, in throwing insults my way, treating me like their own verbal punch bag.

I should have seen it coming with John, really. Should have seen it coming. John came along far too conveniently, and clicked with me so _easily._ It should have sent so many warning bells off in my head, should have screamed to me that this wasn't right, that this wasn't what usually happened, that this was _wrong._ Yet it didn't. I’d been so damn _bored_. So damn _lonely._ So damn _depressed_ I’d craved any type of interaction. Of course John was a plant, he’d been too perfect. Too perfect for me, at just the right time, and too easily inserted into my life. I should have seen that it was Mycroft’s doing from a mile off, how hadn’t I?

\--

**_“I told you Sherlock, caring is not an advantage. You’re better off without a flat mate.”_ **

**_“Piss off Mycroft.”_ **

**_“Charming as always I see. This is why nobody sticks around; people don't take kindly to being insulted.”_ **

**_“I said piss off.”_ **

**_“I thought you wanted the company, brother mine. The flat is rather empty without that flat mate of yours, and she did leave in such a hurry. I would have thought you would have learnt after the fourth one left that trying to find a flat mate who will stay is not going to be possible.”_ **

**_“You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you, that diet is doing_ ** _wonders **for you, isn’t it?”**_

**_“Sherlock I’m serious. Stop looking for more flat mates. Nobody is going to stay; you are not flat mate material. All attempts will lead to heart break, just like these last ones have.”_ **

**_“FUCK OFF ALREADY.”_ **

**_“I will, but honestly Sherlock, please stop looking. You won’t find anybody, not even Victor wanted to live with you.”_ **

\--

It always came back down to the desperation didn't it? A genius needed an audience, and when someone came along who paid attention and made him feel special, he danced and danced, not questioning anything about it. Mycroft played me so well, just like always. Always knew how to make me feel like I wasn't a real human being, just a thing for him the play with. I just wished he’d stuck to verbal abuse, instead of sticking his hands in my life this far, and making me feel like _this._ I’d give anything to not feel like this.

A hand resting on my shoulder made me leap feet, turning round, I saw it was Victor, who looked about as rough as I felt.

“Do you need anything? Like, I don't know... I don't even know what could help in this situation.” He sighed, it had somehow gotten dark in the time I’d been inside my head. But he hadn’t eaten dinner or anything. Too busy looking at me, probably.

“All the cocaine in the world.” What I wouldn’t give to be high right now, in the middle of that rush, where everything was bright and nothing mattered. Everything was better when I was high, it was why I started shooting up in the first place, to bloody escape _this_ mess.

“Can’t do that I’m afraid, MI5 would fire me on the spot.” Victor tried smiling, it looked pathetic, “Is there anything else? Maybe get Mrs Hudson to bake something for us, or I could cook us something good?”

“I’m not hungry, and I’m not a cliché of a teenage girl, I don't eat my _feelings._ ” Any suggestion otherwise was abhorrent.

“I know, sorry, just thinking out loud... Now’s not really the time for dancing is it?” Victor sighed.

“I hate dancing.” I told him.

“Oh, you always used to enjoy dancing...” Victor bit his lip, “Is there anything, anything I can get you?”

“Give me a cigarette.” If I couldn't be high, the least I could have was some bloody nicotine in my system. Anything that could help dull this, whatever _this_ was.

“Alright. I’ll let you off, just this once.” Victor luckily knew where the cigarette stash was, handing the white stick to me, along with a lighter.

I didn't hesitate, instantly lighting it. Yet smoking still didn't dull what I was feeling. I didn't think anything would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos again, I truly do love hearing what you think about this!  
> But a quick bit of warning, I won't be updating at all next week I'm afraid! I've got a very busy week, consisting of 3 McFly concerts in a row, the start of the new uni term, and a day spent with my best friend.   
> Usually I'd work around it to get something posted, but I'm afraid next week it's just not going to be possible, I'm going to be too exhausted to do anything.   
> I'll be back the next week though, updating on Monday, Wednesday and Friday from then onwards! I'd keep to my usual days, but I'm now in uni on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just to be annoying! Sorry for the break and the change!


	40. Chapter 40

39 Sherlock's POV

I smoked in silence, Victor sitting on the arm of my chair, letting me have a quiet moment to right myself. He knew the importance of leaving me alone when I needed, especially when I had some sort of meltdown. That had clearly been one hell of a meltdown, the biggest I had had in years. In some ways, I wished it had gone further, slipped into a full shutdown. At least in a full shutdown I could lay still and not have to bother with moving, or speaking, or doing _anything_ until I was ready to come back.

In others, I didn't want to prove John right, didn't want to prove that I wasn't capable of things, that I wasn't _right._ I didn't want to be proven to be _disabled,_ not again, not to yet another person, even when that person wasn't around. I wished I’d held it together long enough for him to leave, wished he hadn’t seen the start of the meltdown. It was always humiliating to be observed by those who didn't understand, let alone by people who thought that I needed to be cared for because of my _problems._ John had witnessed one meltdown before, at Baskerville, which was bad enough. Him seeing another one, which he caused this time, while arguing about my capabilities, was _awful._

“Do... Do you want to talk about it?” Victor asked after the cigarette was finished, hand resting on my shoulder.

“Not particularly.” I answered, resisting the urge to lean into my friends embrace.

“Alright... Up for something to eat now? Give yourself some energy?” Victor suggested.

“No.” I didn't want to _eat,_ or have to explain what just happened to Mrs Hudson either. It was surprising that she hadn’t turned up this afternoon, usually she was straight up at the first signs of shouting.

“Okay... I guess, it’s safe to say that John’s a dickhead who understands fuck all about you, and you’re better off without him.” Victor broke the elephant in the room.

“If you say so.” I shrugged, not really caring for this conversation. It was just a repeat of the past, only this time with someone I actually really cared for, so what? I should have learned years ago what happens when I trusted people who came into my life by coincidence. The universe was rarely so lazy as to create _coincidences._

“Well he is, you heard what he said, he doesn’t have a _clue_ about you, or how you work. And he was only after you for your brain and what you could give him, which is a _shit_ way to behave. If you ever want me to teach him a lesson, I’ll be more than happy to break a few of his bones. Possibly shoot him in the leg, too, _really_ give him something to limp about.” Victor smirked evilly, he reminded me of his twenty-one year old self then. He always used to smirk like that when plotting revenge against someone he thought was dishonouring me. It’s times like that when I remembered that he wasn't innocent in the slightest, he could kill anyone with barely a thought. MI5 hadn’t trained him to protect himself for nothing after all...

“I thought I was supposed to be the psychopath in this partnership.” Victor passed for normal every single day, I on the other hand was always seen as a depraved psychopath.

“I wouldn’t go so far as _psychopath,_ just more... _violent_ than you, when it’s needed.” Victor smiled, the killer look receding.

“I experiment on human organs.” I deadpanned at him.

“Yes, but you don't hurt anybody to get them. You ask a mortician to get them for you, so you can experiment on them and further scientific understanding, as well as speed up crime solving. I on the other hand maim in the name of self protection, sometimes that ends in loss of life.” Victor explained, “So really, I’m the psycho here. You’re the scientist. We just both happen to have rather large and detailed imaginations.”

“If that’s how you want to explain it away.” I shrugged again.

“I do. Now, about that revenge, want me to exact it? I’ll need a few days to stake him out, but I can manage it easily enough.”

“It’s fine Victor, I’ll live without you exacting revenge on John, or preserving my honour.” I didn't need protecting, but I appreciated the offer. Victor actually stood up for me, and was _always_ in my corner, I trusted him. I trusted him a lot more than I should have, given the situation, but I couldn't help it. Victor hadn’t ever given me reason to distrust him, even as a trained _spy_ he was always trustworthy. Every story he told me checked out, his missions were purely about destroying weapons dealers and other such bad guys, and he’d never tried to make me do something for him.

I hadn’t ever solved a case for him, or deduced someone for him, or anything of the sort. I didn't _give_ him anything in return for his friendship, he was here because he _wanted_ to be. He wasn't being paid or anything to be here, I’d checked _every single_ bank account and alias and everything I could think of. Victor was here _for me,_ and he _understood_ me. He didn't judge me for meltdowns, or force me to talk, instead tried to cheer me up, albeit with violent acts.

“Thanks, for trying with me. It, it means a lot.” I turned to look at him.

“More than happy to help. Friends protect friends and all that.” Victor pulled me closer, giving me a loose hug.

“Now, how about if we go and _do_ something, instead of sitting here wallowing in our own pain, huh? Sound good?” he stood up, pulling me with him.

“Like what exactly?” there wasn't anything to _do,_ and I didn't fancy doing anything anyway. Wallowing sounded like a bloody good idea actually.

“I don't know, but I’ll find something. Come on.” Victor pulled me out the house.

_God_ he knew how to be a distracting arsehole at times.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	41. Chapter 41

40 Sherlock's POV                                                                                                  

_“You really thought that I **liked** you Sherlock? really? You actually thought that we could be friends? Wow, how could you ever believe that, after all the failures in the past?” John laughed to himself, “What were you thinking? You’ve never had a friend in your life besides Victor, why did you think that I would be a second exception?”_

_“You, you were kind. You were... you didn't mock me.” I whispered, he’d never... John hadn’t ever tried to mock me. Or act like I was a freak of nature._

_“Oh I did mock you, weren’t you listening? Didn't you hear me speak to other people? Didn't you register half the things I said to you?” he laughed again as I shook my head, backing away from the man I once trusted, “ I thought you were supposed to be clever Sherlock, you were supposed to be the perfect memory! How can you not remember the things I told you?”_

_“I-I, but you weren’t... it... you were so kind to me.” I hit the wall behind me, not feeling Baker Street’s tattered wallpaper, but the cold, supposedly soft, padded fabric, “NO!”_

_“Yes Sherlock, yes I was **hired** to be with you, to act as your friend and partner. I was hired by your **brother** because he didn't trust you with your own life choices, he didn't think you could cope on your own for so long. And he was right you know, you couldn't. You would have **died** without me.” John drew closer, his expression mocking._

_“I-I, no John please! Stop, please stop!” I begged him, couldn't stand to hear one more word._

_“You were so desperate for someone, so damn **desperate** for a connection to someone, you missed the obvious. You, the world’s greatest detective, the most **observant** man in the world, and you **missed** that I wasn't a genuine person.” John’s hand pressed against my throat, just starting to cut off the airway, “It’s **pathetic** Sherlock, so bloody pathetic. Of all people, you should know what you’re not capable of, and being a human being is one of them.” John hissed in my ear._

“NO!” I woke with a scream, scrambling out of bed.

“Sherlock? What happened?!” Victor ran in, immediately coming to my side.

“Nothing, just a bad dream.” I shook off his hold, quickly setting about regulating my breathing. No need to panic, just a bad dream, nothing more. Bad dreams were to be ignored, just like all dreams were, there were just figments of imagination.

“What about?” Victor asked, staying close.              

“Nothing important.” I headed towards the bathroom, I needed a shower, rid my head of these thoughts.

“Are you sure? You look pretty shaken, and that’s after everything that’s happened today.” Victor pulled me back again.

“Nothing _happened_ today. We went out and you made me show you some of the best places to lay low in London, that was all.” I was refusing to even acknowledge this morning’s events. They were irrelevant, only a confirmation of information I already knew of. Therefore, it was pointless to be worrying over it, or even thinking about it. It was best to ignore it and _move the hell on,_ even when my brain wanted to dwell on it. I would soon reset the hard drive and have it working at optimum capacity again.

“Sherlock, denying it won’t help.” Victor sighed, looking at me with _pity._

“And neither will _pity,_ I don't need _pity,_ I need to move on and get back to doing what I was doing before John arrived in my life.” I argued, because bloody hell I didn't need to constantly reflect on _everything,_ let alone waste time going over things I already knew.

“Sherlock, you’ve been through _hell_ today, it’s okay to be shaken. You don't have to act like nothing is wrong, you can mourn your friendship, and feel sorry for yourself.” Victor told me, like he knew _anything._ He spent his life faking friendships to take down criminals; he didn't know what it was like to mourn friendships, or how it was to be on the receiving end of that fake friendship!

“There’s no _friendship_ to mourn, there’s a lie to learn from and a life to continue on with. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.” I forced my arm out of his hand, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind me.

But even through the wood, I heard Victor’s last words to me.

“If that’s what you want Sherlock. If that’s what you want.”

It was, I wanted nothing more than to pretend that this never happened. I wanted to pretend that John was just a mistake that could be easily ignored, and to move on with my life. I wanted to go back to solving cases, to experimenting in the flat, to stop being looked at like some pitiable being. It was _all_ I wanted. It was all I could have.

I couldn't have John back, I couldn't trust him or his word. Or pretend that this didn't happen. His words still echoed in my head, from the dream and from his shouted arguments this morning. John had made his thoughts on me loud and clear, and I never wanted to hear them again, or see him for that matter. It was a ridiculous idea to even _consider_ taking him back, or acting like this had never happened. I couldn't stand the thought of letting back into my life as my friend and partner after all that he said. He was _gone_ now, and he was staying gone.

John was the last man I was ever going to trust, the last person I _ever_ took a chance on again. I wasn't going to put myself out there and set myself up for another humiliation ever again. This was it for me, the people I had in my life now were the only ones I could ever consider relying on. All I had left, for the rest of my life, were Victor, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, and the Homeless Network, if they counted. I didn't want or need another person after this. And if anybody dared to enter my trust, I wouldn’t believe them for a second.

My lesson had been learnt, I wasn't about to make the mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! And just a reminder that there won't be any updates at all next week, because I've got 3 McFly gigs and the start of uni, so I'm going to be exhausted! But I'll update again on Monday the 3rd of October, then I'll be updating on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays!


	42. Chapter 42

41 Sherlock's POV

I tried my best to not dwell on the past, to move on and not think of John at all. But it was so very difficult, he still felt _present_ in my life. Even with all of his things gone, and on days where there wasn't even the mention of Scotland Yard, let alone a trip, his presence still permeated the flat. Baker Street had been _ours,_ it had been _our_ flat, the armchairs had been _our_ armchairs, the plates and the books an amalgamation of our collections. His laptop had been my laptop when I couldn't be bothered to go find mine, I used to use his gun all the time, his coat used to hang next to mine on the clothes pegs.

And now it was all _gone._ And while John’s things had been replaced with Victor’s, and the items were somewhat similar, it wasn't quite the same. I found myself still forgetting John’s deception, forgetting that things weren’t okay anymore. That I didn't have John anymore.

It certainly didn't help when clients asked where he was.

“To be honest, I was scared to come here Mr Holmes, seeing as John’s blog has been so quiet recently. I thought that maybe you had, I don't know, died or something.” The latest one was saying, I forced myself to remain calm. The public didn't know what had happened, which was a god send if I was being completely honest. I couldn't really stand the idea of every single person with an internet connection finding out that I was incapable of making _friends_ by myself. They already thought of me as a repulsive human being with no emotion, I’d rather not have that confirmed further to them.

“I’m perfectly alive, as you can see, now what is your problem?” I tried to change the subject, Victor keeping an eye on the client, apparently ready to jump in when I needed him. Like I needed him to _jump in,_ I was perfectly capable myself.

“I, sorry?” the client looked confused; the slow processing speed of the average mind was _astounding._ And by that I mean _infuriating._ How did others stand it, being so slow? It must have been so relaxing, to not have more than one thought at a time, to be so bloody oblivious to everything that they could nearly be run over by a _train_ and they wouldn’t notice.

“Why are you here? You don't come to my door asking for help unless you have a problem you want me to solve.” I explained through gritted teeth, for God’s sake, did anybody around here possess a brain?!

I _almost_ wanted to miss Mycroft, at least he has a mind I could compare to. Even with all the bloody mocking and being treated like some sort of helpless child, one he was clearly laughing at constantly in private, at least he didn't beat around the bush and didn't bother with pointless small talk.

Not that I _was_ going to miss him, no way in hell was I going to miss _him_ of all people. Stupid fat bastard, always meddling and putting his enormous nose in where it wasn't wanted. I bet he still kept tabs on me now, kept on spying in any way he could, kept on making sure that _innocent baby Sherlock didn't get hurt_ or whatever bullshit he told himself to help him sleep at night. Bastard.

“Oh, right, yes...” the client got on with it, explaining a problem so inane I could see that Victor had solved it literally seconds after I had.

“ _Clearly_ the answer is with your husband, who is obviously having an affair with your son’s teacher. The boy knows and that’s why his grades have been dropping, he’s too busy being stressed over _you_ finding out and can’t concentrate. It is not _drugs_ or anything of the sort, it is simply your husband being a _liar._ ” I hissed at the client, it was all so _obvious._ If people didn't constantly feel the need to believe the best in others, then _maybe_ they would be capable of solving their own affairs. Dear God how could this woman not see this?

How could she not see that her husband had married her for her wealth? That it was all a ploy to live the life of luxury? Could she really not see that he didn't care about her, only for himself? He had been clearly having affairs their entire marriage! Why couldn't she see that? Was she so damn desperate for love that she deluded herself and pretended not see the obvious? How could she do that? How could she seriously not see that that was what was happening?!

“Alright, if that is all, I think it’s time for you to go, there’s other appointments with other potential clients today.” Victor gently pushed the woman out the door, ignoring her protests.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” he turned round and bent to my level.

“She... She was so desperate for love. So desperate for acceptance that she, she didn't even _see_ the lie right in front of her.” I whispered, seeing the parallels. So many parallels. Why did she not see? How could she not _see?_ How could we be so desperate, so damn desperate that we didn't see the truth? We should have seen the truth. Why didn't we see the truth?

How could I be so _stupid?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Last week was awesome - I laughed, danced, sang my heart out and nearly burst into tears 4 times, and loved every single second of it! But now it's back to earth, thanks to uni, it's my final year and I've got a tonne of work to do, I'll be updating as often as possible, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday's, as I said before!


	43. Chapter 43

42 Lestrade's POV

“Shit, and here I thought he was just in a strop.” I swore, after Victor had finished going through everything that had happened recently. I couldn't believe the nerve of John showing up like that, and saying those awful things about Sherlock, right in front of the man when he was already emotionally distressed. I thought he was better than that, he hadn’t been that rude at Baskerville from what I could tell. Then again, he’d still been on Mycroft’s pay roll at the time...

“No, well... they’re not _strops,_ per se. It’s more... he’s really down at the moment, really, really down. Lying on the sofa, mostly answering me in grunts and other such noises, or harshly deducing and insulting me and Mrs Hudson. John’s done a number on him, hence why I want to tell you, so you don't think he’s ignoring you for fun.” Victor explained, “I’m doing my best with him, but I don't think anything but an incredibly complex locked room murder is going to stir him.” the man sounded _so_ tired, I dreaded to think what it was like living with Sherlock while he was like this. I could imagine that it was pure hell.

Then again, I couldn't exactly blame the man for acting like he was. John had been a complete _dickhead,_ and I had half a mind to find him and punch him the face for what he’d done to poor Sherlock recently. The man had broken the trust Sherlock had in him, and not only that, had had the nerve to come _back_ to him afterwards to try and get him on side again. By the sounds of it, he’d gone back to Sherlock to try and get back to solving cases with him, so he could solve his limp. Arsehole.

“I don't know what to tell you, you know Sherlock better than I do, than any of us do, really.” I shrugged, knowing Victor couldn't see it over the phone. But really, I didn't know what to say to the man, Victor had known him for _years_ longer than I had. I’d only known Sherlock for seven years, and all I could really say about the man was that he was an ex-junkie with a genius level IQ who could tell you your life story just by looking at you. Oh and that he had no social skills. To me, it seemed like this should have been the other way round. It should have been me asking Victor questions, he knew more about Sherlock, they were friends from university. Surely he knew more about our resident genius than I did?

“Thing is, I don't. I know who he _used_ to be, I don't know who he is now. I don't know John’s influence on him, or what they’re friendship was like. I have a file with pieces of information, and a few things Sherlock’s told me, but other than that, I know nothing about them as a pair. But I figured that if I knew more about John and how he and Sherlock worked, I could help him.” Victor was saying, a muffled shout came through from the background, though I couldn't figure out what was said. Victor seemed to ignore it.

“Sure you want to know? Sherlock doesn’t seem too happy about it.” I bit my lip, not wanting to anger our detective more if he was already in a state.

“He doesn’t seem too happy about anything, right now, and I’ve got no other choice. I can either talk to you and go fact finding, possibly gaining some information that could help me, or I let him wallow in his own misery while being unable to help him. At least if I have _some_ information I could figure something out.” Victor sighed again, he sounded so desperate, I had to give in. I couldn't leave him to deal with this alone, and while I was sure my presence would do nothing but anger Sherlock more, I could at least give Victor something to work with. It may be of no use whatsoever, but at least I _tried._

“Alright, what do you want to know?” I ended up telling the man as much as I could. I told him about how John came into Sherlock’s life, the first case they went on, the subsequent cases, how the two worked.

Victor was very interested in finding out how John reacted to Sherlock, what kind of things he said to him, how Sherlock reacted in turn. Did they laugh together a lot? Did he stick up for him? Did he seem to know _anything_ personal about Sherlock at all? The questions threw me a bit, because really, nobody knew anything about Sherlock. He was an enigma; he didn't offer information about himself freely. In fact, he barely offered anything up at all.

I mean, the only reason why I knew the man had a _brother_ and wasn't just dropped into the world as a fully made adult was because Mycroft had picked me up to talk to me several times, and had called me in as reinforcement when it was needed. But really, that was all I knew of Sherlock. To think of it, I didn't even know how old he was... or when his birthday was. What kind of friend didn't know that information about someone they worked with all the time?


	44. Chapter 44

43 Sherlock's POV                                          

“Had enough of gossiping about me?” I glared as Victor ended the phone call to Lestrade.

“It wasn't gossiping Sherlock, I was just asking about the things I’ve missed, so I can help you more.” Victor sighed, sitting on the sofa by my feet.

“And how _exactly_ is that supposed to _help_ me?” I raised an eyebrow, honestly, learning about the years Victor was missing of my life wasn't going to do much at all. He was just going to learn about John, and what was the point of that? He wasn't _here_ anymore, and he wasn't coming back. I was going to move on, knowledge about John was _useless._

“It gives me an idea of what you’ve gotten used to, and what you’re now missing. It tells me what your relationship was like, and how I can help you to move on.” Victor explained, stroking his fingers across my ankle.

“And so you went to _Lestrade_ for information? The man wouldn’t notice if you painted his entire flat bright _pink,_ let alone anything about John and I.” I dismissed him.

“Well when you won’t tell me anything, I have to outsource to get what I need.” Victor shrugged, “So... you ready to actually talk to me?”

“No.” I wasn't _ever_ going to _talk_ about this. Talking about it meant admitting _feelings,_ feelings I didn't have. Feelings I didn't want to have, either. I didn't want to feel the humiliation of being fooled like I had been, of actually believing that somebody could - somebody could _stay_ like John had. How had I let myself get so desperate for acceptance that I actually fell for John and Mycroft’s lies? I had prided myself on being detached and aloof, not needing anybody, how had I become so damn desperate for someone?

It shouldn’t have happened, and I wasn't going to let it happen again. There were going to be no more incidents where someone used me for their own gain, not without me knowing it beforehand. Nobody was going to fake friendship to get something from me.

“Sherlock, you can’t just shut it all out and act like it’s all okay. It’s not... that’s not how these things work. You need to let it out, to work through what happened. You can’t just... delete it and move on like nothing happened.” Victor sighed again; he looked like he felt _sorry_ for me. Well fuck him, I didn't need pity. I knew what I was doing, it wasn't like the realisation of my own stupidity was anything new. It had happened before. He’d _seen_ people use me before. He was _there_ at university after all.

“I can, and I have before, this is no different.” It wasn't any different, it wasn't. Just because John had moved in, just because he had stayed for two years, just because this time it was Mycroft’s fault, it meant nothing. It meant... it didn't mean _anything_ new. It was just another incidence where I was stupid enough to believe that I was a likeable human being, that was all.

“This is different Sherlock! This is so different! This isn’t university, where someone acts kind once just to get exam answers!” Victor argued, standing up to loom over me.

“How isn’t it?!” I stood, too, coming up near eye to eye with him, “How is this _any_ different!? How is this different from Sebastian Wilkes acting nice so I’d tell him which girls were available for him to sleep with? Or Marcus James from wanting to know which tutor was the easiest to bribe for higher grades? Or, or Isabelle Smith from wanting me to tutor her? How is this _any_ different?! Is it because John moved in and stayed because he was _hired_ to? Or because he kept the act up for two years? It doesn’t matter, Victor! It doesn’t matter at all! It’s all just the same situation! It’s the same act over and over again, no matter what the motives were, or who it was! It doesn’t matter how much I liked the person or anything! All that matters is that I _fell for it_ and that I shouldn’t have! That’s all that matters!”

It didn't _matter_ who did it or why, it was all the same thing! It was all the same ‘I need something from you so I’m going to pretend to like you so I get it’ - it was _all_ manipulation! No matter what age I was, or who did it, it was all the same damn thing! It shouldn’t matter _who_ did it! it shouldn’t matter how much I liked the person behind the trickery, or how they made me feel, it didn't _matter!_

“It _does_ Sherlock, it really does. John was, John was an actual _friend_ and flat mate for two _years._ You protected each other, solved crimes together, and created a bond, a bond that grew over two _years_ of living together. And he betrayed you, he betrayed your trust, and he used you for his own gain. He did more than those others did, he _hurt_ you more than anybody else did. And then just the other day he came back and decided to throw his real, _wrong,_ opinion in your face.” Victor rested his hands on my shoulders, making me realise that I was shaking, “That _has_ to hurt a lot, and that’s okay. It’s completely okay to want to kill him, to want to sulk on the sofa for days on end, and it’s definitely okay to cry. I’m down for _any_ type of release you need to have, alright? I’m right here, and I’ll _understand,_ so you don't have to pretend that you’re okay, or like this isn’t effecting you.”

“He, he... He was my best friend.” I whispered, shaking so much in his arms I felt like I couldn't stop.

“I know, I know he was.” Victor brought my head to rest on his shoulder.

“He... He was... He _lied_ and I, I... it was supposed to be the two of us forever!” It was supposed to be the two of us against the rest of the world, just the two of us forever!

The shaking gave way into tears I couldn't stop, huge tears that wouldn’t stop. I was just so _angry_ and _upset,_ I couldn't... John had been _everything_ and he had ruined _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, the differing opinions on Victor is fascinating to me, so thank you for sharing them!


	45. Chapter 45

44 John's POV

Okay, I hadn’t meant to say that Sherlock was incapable of making friends, but damn it, it wasn't like I was _lying,_ Sherlock had a proven track record of not being able to make friends! It wasn't like I had said it as an insult, I’d only told the damn truth! Wasn't that the _point?_ Telling the truth? And it wasn't like Sherlock didn't know this about himself, he’d said it himself, he didn't have _friends,_ he just had one - me. I’d been brought in to help him and to be his friend, we had been put together _because_ we were compatible with each other, couldn't he just see that and go back to how we were? Was it really so bad that our meeting involved a little lie?

I’d told the truth about everything else, I hadn’t reported back to Mycroft,  or laughed about him behind his back with his brother. Everything else was true, I’d just been put into place, that was all. The rest was real, entirely real. Couldn't he see that? Or at least accept that I was the best chance he had of a lasting relationship?

Victor wasn't going to stay around for _that_ long, the man was a spy for God’s sake, he had more important things to do than to babysit Sherlock constantly. That’s why he had disappeared for several years and left Sherlock alone. And yeah, he had Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, but they didn't understand him like I did. I understood Sherlock more than anyone, I should have been the one to be with him forever, despite the small beginning lie. Sherlock had to see that, he had to see that I truly cared, that I was what was best for him.

He’d come round in the end, surely he would come round in the end. I was sure of it.

As I thought, I turned a corner into an alley way, deciding to take the short cut home. My leg was playing up today something chronic, I didn't fancy walking the long way round. Of course it wouldn’t have been a problem if Sherlock just forgave me, then I’d be back at Baker Street and with enough adrenaline to keep me going. Never mind, I’d soon be back again. Once Victor left, or Sherlock decided that what I said had been true.

Without warning, I was slammed into a wall, an arm across my throat.

“You think you can come in and insult him like that? You think that you can _crush_ him and get away with it? I don't think so.” a voice hissed, the arm pressing against my air way.

I immediately tried to fight back, but I was quickly pinned, with expert precision...

“ _Victor?_ ” I gasped, it couldn't be... Victor wouldn’t _dare_ this, would he?

“I’m warning you John, if you come near Sherlock again and hurt him, I _will_ not hesitate to rip your head from your neck. You _do not_ get to turn up at Baker Street and insult Sherlock like that, you don't get to act like you’re high and mighty in this situation, like you’re a _saint_ for doing what you did. Whatever hero complex you have over Sherlock stops _right now,_ you are _not_ his only friend, or his only chance of happiness. He is capable of doing whatever he sets his mind to, and he doesn’t need any _help_ with anything, certainly not from you.” Victor leant close, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you aren’t in charge of me.” I glared at him, what the _hell_ did he know? He disappeared for _years_ from what I could tell! And I’d come along and been Sherlock’s _friend,_ patched him up and helped him become a better man, what had Victor done? Not much I could see.

I tried to struggle out of the hold, but only got pushed harder against the wall.

“I mean it John. If you so much as _look_ at Sherlock again, I _will_ kill you. You don't come near him, or talk to him, or try to contact him. Neither you, or that dickhead brother you work for, come _near_ Sherlock again, or I will make sure nobody finds your body.” Victor warned, I resisted the urge to laugh.

“You and who’s army? I doubt Sherlock knows about this, how would he feel if he knew that you’d hurt me?” I raised an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. He looked scary, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow anything to happen to me. We had a connection; he wouldn’t let me be hurt.

“I don't _need_ an army, I just need me. As for what Sherlock wants, well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. All I know is that he will be a _damn_ sight happier with you _gone_ forever. The only reason why you’re still alive right now is because I am allowing you the chance to do as I say. Dare to come near Sherlock again, and you won’t live long, got it?” Victor let me breathe properly again, though his hand remained around my neck.

“Whatever you say Victor, if it helps you sleep at night.” I smirked, knowing he wouldn’t actually do anything. Sherlock would be too upset if he did. Deep down, Sherlock knew he still liked me, that I was still his friend, he wouldn’t allow someone like Victor to really hurt me. he needed me, and he knew it, somewhere inside that thick skull.

“I’d sleep a lot better knowing that you were gone and unable to cause more trouble. But I meant it, touch Sherlock again, and the pieces of your body will not be found.” Victor landed a punch to my stomach, knocking all the air out of my lungs.

I collapsed to the floor, heaving in breath desperately. When I looked up, Victor was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	46. Chapter 46

45 Sherlock's POV

Waking up, I found myself alone in bed again, even though I had fallen asleep next to Victor. He had insisted on staying with me, even after I had calmed down. Something about not wanting me to be alone, or whatever it was, I wasn't exactly paying attention at the time, instead was grateful for the offer. I hadn’t  exactly wanted to be alone at the time, wanted to physically feel that someone was with me, instead of being so bloody cut off from the entire world. It had still felt like the world was collapsing around me, and that I was an incredibly stupid and desperate man, but at least I’d known I wasn't physically alone. That there was someone who wanted to stay and actually cared for my feelings.

Someone who was now finishing up in the shower by the sounds of things... at 4am in the morning... that was not normal behaviour by any standards. I didn't bother to investigate, knowing that Victor would be coming out soon anyway. I didn't have the energy to get up right now, I preferred to have him come to me instead, it was easier, and required less effort.

Victor soon came out of the bathroom, wrapped in just a towel. He was rather well built under his clothes, had a few more scars than I remembered too. It looked like he’d been through a few nasty knife fights, and had been shot at least once. There was a worryingly large scar across one ankle, but he was walking fine on it, so whatever happened couldn't have been too bad.

One thing that did stand out on him though was that he was _thrumming_ with adrenaline. He was pretending that he wasn't, but it was perfectly obvious to me that he was filled with adrenaline, from the subtle shaking of his limbs to his wide pupils. He’d just been outside, doing something. And judging by the tension in his knuckles, he’d been in a fight, or at least been using excessive force with his hands and arms...

“You went to threaten John, didn't you?” it was an obvious deduction, he had been so angry at my former companion, had threatened violence against him in fact. After my outburst, it made sense that he would go after him.

“I wouldn’t call it _threatening,_ more putting him in his place with a bit of force.” Victor smirked the same evil smile he always gave after he’d been in a good fight and he was feeling powerful.

“Otherwise known as _threatening him,_ Victor I told you not to go near him!” I had expressively told him to _not_ go after John! This was not a time for defending my _honour_ or some bullshit, I could handle myself!

“I didn't go _near_ him, he happened to walk into my path.” Victor nonchalantly picked out a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms, pulling them on and dropping the towel.

“Don’t try to lie to me Victor, I know when you’re lying! You tracked him down and _threatened_ him, after I expressly told you not to!” I couldn't believe him, I told him not to go near John, or hurt him, so he goes and threatens him instead! What happened to doing as I asked?!

“That was before you cried yourself to sleep because he made you feel like a worthless waste of space.” Victor glared back, “I couldn't stand by and let that happen, okay? You’ve had enough heart break over the course of your life, I wasn't about to let him stamp all over your feelings.”

“You don't need to _protect_ me Victor, I can look after myself.” I had looked after myself before Victor arrived, I could do it again. I didn't need him to go round beating up my enemies.

“I know you can, but I could tell that John wasn't going to let it go without force. Besides, he wasn't exactly very threatened by me, seems to think that he’s under your protection, and that you’re going to take him back eventually.” Victor’s fists clenched.

“He _said_ that?” John couldn't be serious, he could not seriously think that I was going to _take him back_ at some point?

“He didn't have to, I’ve been around enough psychopaths who think they’re invincible and under the protection of someone to know he thinks the same way... I’ll give him one thing though, he’s got some serious balls on him, didn't even hesitate when I pinned him against the wall.” Victor looked over his hands, it always struck me how delicate his hands looked, but how deadly they were. They’d killed so many over the years, had shot guns and snapped necks. Victor was _not_ to be messed with, he was one of the most deadly men I had ever met, and I was always thankful that he was one of the good guys. Even if his methods were a bit... _morally grey_ at times.

“He was a soldier, and has an addiction to danger. He’s in need of a fix, I’m sure you just made his night.” I sighed, watching Victor climb under the covers again.

“Wasn't my intention, I assure you.” Victor looked almost disappointed, “I just... I can’t believe him. he just... he didn't even flinch, wasn't remorseful in the slightest, and had the gall to act like he was untouchable. Even under your brothers protection nobody is completely safe.”

“Well he is operating under the delusion that I’m going to keep him safe from now on, and take him back one day.” both ideas were highly unlikely. John could do whatever the bloody hell he wanted, if he got hurt, that was his bloody fault. Sure I’d probably be sad for a while, bloody sentiment, but I wouldn’t go out on a revenge spree for him. I wouldn’t protect him anymore, not after what he did, what he had _said._ And I certainly wouldn’t take him back. If I had my way, he wouldn’t ever even step foot on Baker Street ever again.

“Both of which are definitely untrue.” Victor nodded along.

“Completely untrue.” I agreed, “Though I still don't want you to threaten him again. I don't want you threatening _anyone_ else. You’re not my protector, you’re my friend, and if I have a problem, I’ll handle it myself.” I could handle anything. I had faced down _Moriarty_ for God’s sake, I could handle a retired army doctor with a psychosomatic limp. And if my brother wanted to get involved I would handle him too, I could handle both without Victor’s help. He was here to assist me on cases, not sort out my ex-partners.

“Not even Anderson? That prick deserves some kind of retribution for the shit he says to you.” Victor asked.

“No. I can sort these people out myself. I don't need you to sort them out for me, I’m perfectly capable of handling my own enemies.” Be it with my brain or my fists, I could handle my own problems. I had learnt to years ago, and had always handled them myself. Victor wasn't needed to step in and threaten people for me, no matter what they did. This wasn't university anymore; revenge couldn't be handed out by telling tutors which students were cheating, or anything of the sort. This was real life, and violence could get us into trouble. I didn't have a brother to bail me out anymore, and Lestrade could only bend rules so far. We had to be _careful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, it really does mean a lot!


	47. Chapter 47

46 Mycroft's POV                                                                

“I see you have had the pleasure of meeting Victor Trevor.” I observed as John rubbed his neck.

“Piss off Mycroft.” John grumbled, his voice was croaky, thanks to the choking from Victor.

“You came to me John, if anyone were to ‘ _piss off’_ as you put it, it would have to be you.” I answered, John had arrived during my lunch break, I certainly wasn't going anywhere.

“Whatever, look, what are you going to do about this Victor? He just _attacked_ and _threatened_ me.” John asked, his neck wouldn’t bruise, but he would be sore for a few days, that was for sure.

“Well you did barge into Baker Street and made a rather large scene, so I think he’s almost justified in his anger.” I paused to eat a perfectly cooked potato, “Victor hasn’t ever taken well to people hurting Sherlock’s feelings, he’s quite... _protective_ over my brother.” That was an understatement. Victor used to be far worse, luckily MI5 had straightened him out a bit. Or at least had taught him to control himself more, sometimes attacking first wasn't a good plan, playing the long game was more appropriate.

But when it came to Sherlock, it looked like he was still fiercely protective. At least he hadn’t attacked anybody at Scotland Yard yet, MI5 would have his head. We couldn't risk losing such a valuable spy... though he wasn't exactly on mission right now either, and wouldn’t be for the foreseeable future... damn.

“Oh really, never would have guessed _that._ ” John rolled his eyes, “Going to stop him at any point? It would be useful to not have my life threatened if I tried to talk to Sherlock.”

“No, I won’t be. If Sherlock takes you back, it will be on _his_ terms, which Victor will respect, as he respects all of Sherlock’s decisions,” I chose to ignore John’s mumbled ‘except when it comes to threatening me,’ “He was trying to protect his friend, something I think you will understand well.”

“I guess. But I didn't go out and _hunt someone down_ to threaten them! Intimidation was _your_ forte! I was just the muscle who kept criminals away from Sherlock.” John argued, “It was all calculated on your part, and I was reactionary to whatever the current situation was. Victor is being a lose canon!”

“Victor is essentially the _both_ of us combined in this situation, seeing as both of us can’t step in without causing Sherlock more distress. We have to leave them to their own devices, and trust that they won’t do anything rash.” How I _hated_ letting Sherlock run about by himself, he couldn't be trusted with himself. He wasn't... he was _vulnerable_ by himself. He felt too much, let it get into his head and let the negative depress him. When I was reasonably in Sherlock’s good books, I could step in and help him when it was needed, at least give him someone to take his anger out on. But now he only had Victor, and I could not step in without risking another meltdown on Sherlock’s part.

If I pushed him too far, I feared he would end up over the edge, back onto the drugs to block out the pain I had caused him, which could cause him to lose _everything._ Everything including his life. And I wouldn’t let him lose his life. Not this young, not due to loneliness or fear of isolation from the world. I couldn't take that, I would _not_ take that. I would not put our parents through it, they worried so much about their youngest son, I would not let them feel _guilt_ over something that wasn't their fault.

\--

**_“Violet there isn’t much we can do. Sherlock is... Sherlock, all we can do is try our best.”_ **

**_“But our best isn’t good enough Siger! We’ve tried and tried, and he’s still as alone as he’s always been!”_ **

**_“I know love, I know.”_ **

**_“I, I thought he would turn out like Mycroft, who doesn’t mind being alone. But he does, he cares about it so much! He looked so_ ** _longingly **at those children at the playground, he’s desperate for a friend, and it breaks my heart to watch him suffer, and not being able to help!”**_

\--

“You, _you_ of all people want to just _trust_ that Sherlock won’t do anything stupid?” John looked at me incredulously.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Neither of us can step in without causing damage, and no-one in Sherlock’s social circle will listen to us. We must trust them in their actions, and not set them off more, which means no more ‘dropping in’ on them without their invite.” John had brought this on himself, he _had_ to understand that he should not poke the bear.

“How else am I supposed to get Sherlock back with me again if I don't try to explain myself to him, and show I still care?!” John shouted.

“By respecting his wishes John. Respect Sherlock’s wishes, and if he wants to see you, he will find you. If you force yourself on him again, I don't doubt for a second that Victor will follow through on his threat. So I suggest you leave them both well alone.” I hated the idea, hated it with a passion. But what else could I do? Let John continually poke at Sherlock until he snapped? Or let Victor actually follow through on his threat to John? I had to make sure John stayed away until Sherlock was ready. The man didn’t like to be forced into anything, and certainly didn't take to being used. He had to feel comfortable and ready to talk. It was no use otherwise.

Though, how long it would take for Sherlock to forgive was anyone’s guess. I hoped for it to be soon, not having eyes and ears on him constantly was disconcerting. I needed to know what he was doing, before he hurt himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out the last chapter wasn't beta'd before I posted it, so apologies for any mistakes in there!


	48. Chapter 48

47 Sherlock's POV

Days seemed to pass in such a slow manner I was sure that somehow the laws of physics had been changed, making time slow down. Nothing was going on, there were no cases, and nothing interesting was going on in the world. It was all _boring,_ and despite Victor’s best efforts, I couldn't help but want to lie on the sofa and not move until something interesting happened. Even though lying on the sofa ended up with me thinking about John, about what he had said, how he had acted. That whole day swirled through my head on a constant loop, and for some reason I found I couldn't be bothered to try and stop it.

I just thought about that day, what John had said, how that day had ended up. Victor’s actions barely made it into my thoughts at all, though, he had gone out and threatened John, attacked him, to defend me. And at this moment in time I didn't even care. So why he had threatened John for me? It was a pointless action, anyway, because he’d laid the truth at my feet already. The damage was done.

John thought me incapable of making social connections by myself, didn't actually care for me, and only wanted me for the danger I gave him. He stayed for that danger, and Mycroft had originally put him in my path, so we would meet and become friends. He had come back because his leg was playing up again and he needed the danger to be at optimum performance. The whole ‘I’m sorry’ speech was just a show because he thought I was gullible enough to fall for it again. In fact, John thought that I was stupid enough to actually let him back into my life and continue on our friendship like nothing happened. I just... there weren’t words to describe it.

I had thought that John understood, that he had actually _understood_ me. I thought he got why I was like I was, that his personality fit perfectly with mine. I thought... I thought that he was my _happy ending._ That we would be friends forever, that it would be the two of us against the rest of the world for the rest of our lives. But I’d just been a means to an end, and he was a plant my brother brought in because he felt like I couldn't make decisions about my own life.

The thoughts constantly spun round in my head, leaving me feeling empty inside. Empty and alone. I felt like, I felt like I was twelve again, stuck in a boarding school with no control over what happened to me, no-one to talk to, and no way to change it. Even with Victor’s presence, I couldn't help but feel like I was alone. No amount of hugs, of conversations, of attempts to cheer me up helped.

“Sherlock, come on, please can you just look at me for a second?” Victor pleaded, lifting my head up to face him. I couldn't meet his eye, though.

“What Victor? There’s nothing you can say to make this better.” I knew there wasn't, if trained _therapists_ couldn't sort me out years ago, I doubted Victor had anything.

“I know there isn’t, but I can’t, I can’t just let you continue feeling like this. Please tell me, is there _anything,_ anything at all I can do to help? What do you need?” someone to _stay_ and treat me like a human being, a truck load of cocaine, and a bloody good locked room murder. At least a nine on the interesting scale.

“There’s nothing Victor. Unless you’ve got an interesting crime to solve.” I sighed, going back looking through the microscope lens. There wasn't anything interesting on it, just a blood sample, but it at least felt the slightest bit normal. And it stopped Victor from trying to get me off the sofa, or out of bed.

“I don't, but is there anything else, any _one_ else? I can get Lestrade, or Mrs Hudson, or Molly, if you need them. Or we can go to Angelo’s, or that little Chinese place you like. Or, or... I don't know, we could go and find some chemicals, do some experiments together, blow some things up. Please, just tell me there’s something I can do.” Victor looked _desperate_ to help, but honestly, there was nothing he could do.

“Just, just let me get on with this. It’ll pass, eventually.” These moods always did. I just needed a good case, that was all. I just needed a good case. Then I could get rid of all these feelings, push them aside and focus on something else. Solve the crime. Go on a chase. Feel alive again.

“I can’t just, you want me to just _sit_ here and let you wallow in misery?” Victor gave me such an incredulous look.

“It’s what everyone else does.” I shrugged, nobody else helped me with this, “A case will come, and I’ll be back to rights again. It’s what usually happens.”

“But we don't know when that will be.” Victor argued, face still stricken.

“It’ll come eventually.” Cases always did. I’d get the case and things would be back on track. I’d get caught up in the puzzle and then everything would be _fine_ again.

“And in the mean time?” Victor asked.

“Keep me away from cocaine.” I answered numbly. Really there was nothing else to do, nothing else anybody _could_ do. That was all that could be done. It was all _anybody_ had done when I felt this way. Victor couldn't be any different. He wasn't a good enough distraction, nothing was, not until a case came around and I could focus on that. For now though, I was stuck thinking about John and what he had said. And that was all I could do.


	49. Chapter 49

48 Sherlock's POV

“Come with me, I have an idea.” Victor grabbed my hand a few hours later, trying to pull me off my stool.

“And what would that idea be exactly?” he had his coat and shoes on, so clearly he wanted us to go out. Where, though I had no idea. And I didn't particularly want to find out, either. Going out sounded like so much _effort,_ and there were _people_ outside, I didn't want to face the deductions, the sounds, the smells, all that stimulus for no purpose.

“We’re going to work.” Victor grinned, tugging at my arm.

“Lestrade hasn’t texted, there’s no case.” I would have heard the text alert, there hadn’t been one. And Victor hadn’t been near his laptop either, so he wasn't taking us to see a client from the blog.

“I know there isn’t. But I think I can find us something to work on together, get that mind of yours occupied.” Victor was still grinning like he was a genius.

“You want to take us to MI5.” I could see the outline of his pass in his pocket; he was wearing a suit instead of his more casual clothing, something he hadn’t done so far. So we were going somewhere up market, where best dress was required. Where would Victor think was a good place for me that required suits and passes? MI5, obviously.

“I do, what do you think? They’re not sending me on mission, because I’m still on leave. But that doesn’t mean I can’t consult with them, or give a few pointers on which agents they _should_ send, or what the course of action should be.” Victor explained, still pulling, “Want to join me?”

“I don't have clearance.” Not that that had ever stopped me before, but right now I didn't really feel like trying to sneak important documents out from under the noses of some very well trained people. Sitting in a dark cell underground didn't sound very entertaining right now. Especially when that ran the risk of having to get my _brother_ involved to get me back out again. I’d have rather rot in there than let _him_ help.

“You do right now, because I got it for you. I pulled a few strings, got the higher ups to agree to letting the world’s only genius consulting detective take a look at some of the files. Between the two of us, I reckon we could give them some insight into some targets, help get some plans of action rolling for other agents, that sort of thing. I know it’s not a locked room murder, but it’s better than nothing, right?” Victor asked, looking a bit hesitant by the end.

“I guess.” I shrugged, I mean, I was only mixing chemicals and seeing what happened right now. Maybe spending an afternoon deducing criminals could do me some good. It wouldn’t be murder, but at least it was a puzzle of sorts...

“Great, come on, the car’s arriving soon.” Victor chucked me my coat, dragging us both downstairs, to find a car waiting for us outside.

It was exactly as expected. Non-descript, though clearly heavily armoured if you knew what you were looking for, window between the driver and the backseat, for confidentiality, and darkened windows. Looked a bit like one of Mycroft’s, though his were usually more luxurious than this, so I felt like it was safe to get in.

The journey was quick enough, taking us seamlessly through London, taking us to the back entrance of the MI5 building. I’d been here before, several times in fact, over the years, so knew my way around pretty well. Still, I took Victor’s lead, letting him get us to our meeting room.

“Ah, there you are Victor, it’s good to see you again.” a brunette woman around our age greeted, “You must be Sherlock, I’ve heard good things about you, I trust Victor hasn’t been exaggerating your skills at all?”

“You’re one of the heads of this department of MI5, dealing in cartels and weapons dealing. You rose quickly through the ranks, thanks to skill and cunning. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty; judging by the calluses caused by gun use, and are a skilled fighter. You lost an agent, several years ago, and have vowed to never let it happen again. You trust Victor implicitly, but not many others, you mainly work with male agents, most of whom have little respect for you. This angers you, but you don't act on it, instead you set out to prove them wrong at every chance you get, which does include the occasional bit of leg work. All in all, you’re happier in the field, but feel you’re also of use behind the desk, and so do both as much as possible. Oh, and don't worry about what my _brother_ thinks of all of this, if he has anything to say about my visit, tell him that I’m perfectly happy with _this_ arrangement, and I am not coming back to heel again. That enough to be going on?” I reeled off, feeling myself smirk.

“Whoa, more than enough. How did you know about Chr-” she started asking.

“Simple really, you’re wearing his dog tags under your shirt. You haven’t served in any army though, and agents aren’t given dog tags as it takes away their secrecy. The agent you lost was a soldier before joining this agency, and you two were close, too close in fact, the tags remind you of him, and also serve as a reminder to be more careful with agents in the future.” I explained, it was a simple enough deduction.

“Wow, okay, Victor I see you what you mean by bloody brilliant.” She smiled, “Welcome aboard Sherlock, I hope you can be of some assistance to us.”

“I’m sure he will be Hayley, I haven’t seen him fail yet.” Victor grinned again, “Now where are the files?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to anybody who gets the reference!


	50. Chapter 50

49 Sherlock's POV                                            

Hayley handed us a stack of papers, telling us all the known information about the target, as well as their original ideas for a plan of action. She left classified information out, but it wasn't hard to deduce, actually rather straight forward if I was honest.

“He’s a dangerous bugger this one, has been the supplier of weapons to far too many terrorist organisations, and caused at least three separate bombings himself. Got any ideas on how to deal with him?” Hayley asked, chewing on her lip.

“Well for starters an easy way in is through his child. He clearly cares for the boy a lot, and if an attack is staged where the boy is put in danger, then one of your operatives saves him from said danger, your man will be incredibly thankful. He’ll of course do a background check, so if you give the guy a dubious past, with ties to arms dealing, he’ll get interested in him. From there, it’ll be all up to your operative. Though I’d suggest they try and lean on the mistress, she is clearly a trophy for him, and doesn’t actually love the man. She’s being held against her will, and with a few pushes would probably give your operative some information. From there, it should be another normal take down.” I explained, surely it was obvious to see that that was the best way to get in with this guy?

“Hm, hadn’t considered that angle,” Hayley mused.

“Obviously.” I rolled my eyes, because it was clear as day that she hadn’t thought of that.

“It’s a good plan, but it would take some major risk on the operative’s part. Their back story would have to be air-tight, and they couldn't drop their guard for a second. Any one of this guy’s entourage could get suspicious, which could cause this whole thing to topple on top of them.” Victor explained, “They’d have to be _incredibly_ careful, and you’d have to keep an eye out for them constantly. You can’t send in another agent with them though, because that could be seen as even more suspicious. He’d have to figure out how to pass information to you without getting caught, as well as blend in with his surroundings seamlessly. He’d have to play a ruthless game, be prepared to possibly kill anybody who seemed a threat to the operation, possibly give some very bad men some very big weapons to keep their cover.”

“Think Jenkins would be up for it?” Hayley asked.

“No, he’s more useful for home grown organisations. Try Becket, or Pine. Becket thinks quickly on his feet, but Pine has a ruthless streak which could prove useful.” Victor answered, the two going back and forth for a few minutes, before they agreed that Pine would be for the best in this mission.

Our day continued in a similar fashion, Victor and I going through MI5 files together, formulating plans of attack, figuring out the weaknesses of the targets, the best ins and outs for each dealer. It was a rather good distraction all in all. I mean, it wasn't a locked room murder, but it wasn't wallowing in self pity and hating myself, either. At least here I was exercising my brain, distracting myself from what was going on around me, and not thinking about John. It was glorious, not thinking about him right now, simply getting on with what I had to do here.

It was like being back on a case again, just without the legwork. I could sit and just deduce, find the weakness, find ways to overcome the weakness, and work solidly. Fill my head with facts and then forget them again as we moved onto the next case. It was... calming, I guess you could say. Simple. Input and output. Deduce, plan, move on. No time for thoughts of anything else, just getting on with what was necessary, no time to talk about anything else.

And most importantly, I wasn't being ridiculed for how I acted here. I was... Hayley respected me, listened to what I said, took it on board, and didn't insult me for it. She understood my deductive capabilities, and didn't feel the need to constantly put me down for them. I wasn't called a ‘freak’ once, or taunted for my past assistant. I wasn't forced to fight back, to deduce and insult her to get her to stop taunting me. I could just get on with the work at hand, and she let me. If she thought anything bad of me, she didn't act upon those thoughts, or treat me as anything but a colleague. Thinking back, I couldn't remember a time like it.

It was extraordinary, and the perfect break from reality. I didn't think it was possible that somebody who didn't know me could treat me this well. To treat me like I was utterly normal. I couldn't... There was no mistreatment here. No-one acted like I was a monster, or a psychopath. No-one brought up John. No-one treated me like I was Autistic, either. I was just a human being. A normal human being.

I didn't even know what to do with that.


	51. Chapter 51

50 Sherlock's POV                                 

Victor and I picked out some files to take home with us, in case we got bored again, before heading to a local Thai restaurant. I hadn’t been to that specific place before, but Victor recommended it, saying that they food was _amazing_ there, and that he always treated himself to a meal there every time he was home. I allowed him to pull me along, because I was in a rather good mood thanks to our day.

It was such an odd feeling, knowing that I’d helped solve the puzzle, potentially saved the life, all while not being insulted and treated like I was a freak. I wasn't used to the concept, couldn't even remember the last time I had worked with someone who _hadn’t_ made me feel at least a little bit odd. John used to say I was brilliant and fantastic, but his blog always put me under the microscope, mocked me for apparently basic things that I didn't understand. It was rather insulting at points too, really... I should probably check that blog out soon, see if John had said anything on it recently...

“So, what did you think of helping out MI5?” Victor asked, looking a bit smug.

“It was a good distraction. Not as good as a murder case, though.” I shrugged, because it had been fun, but it would never be as fun as a good murder. Nothing could compare to a good murder.

“Of course, but would you be willing to spend some more days at MI5, going through case files, when things slow down?” Victor still looked rather pleased with himself, like he knew my answer already.

“Maybe, but only if there’s _nothing_ else on, alright? Just because I enjoyed today, doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy doing it constantly.” I warned him, “And stop looking so smug, too. Just because you figured out a new distraction doesn’t mean that you can be smug about it.”

“I won’t, promise,” Victor put his hands up in mock surrender, “I’m just glad to have helped out. You look a lot better than you did this morning, that’s for sure.”

“How so?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well for starters you’re actually using words again, and willingly talking to me. This morning you weren’t exactly in the mood for anything but sullenly looking at your microscope, and thinking about everything John said to you.” Victor continued on as I tried to argue, “I know, you want to forget, but everything he said won’t leave that brain of yours. He hurt you, badly, and now you can’t stop focusing on it. There is no shame whatsoever in that, either, I’m just saying that the difference between then and now is astounding, and I’m glad to have helped with that, even if it was just for a few hours.”

“He didn't hurt me.” I muttered, nothing _hurt_ me. I’d just... it was tough recovering from a complete meltdown, alright? It was difficult, and hard, and not pleasant in the slightest.

“Sherlock, you asked me to keep you away from cocaine this morning. _Cocaine._ That’s serious, alright? Really serious. And it means that you were hurt, bad, and you didn't know how to process it.” Victor reached across the table, holding my hand in his own.

“So you decided that distracting me so I didn't think about it would help?” I was lashing out; I knew it, but God if Victor didn't stop pointing out my weaknesses...

“I was distracting you to stop you feeling so down, so maybe you could process things properly later. I know you, you like to process things in your own time, but sometimes you get so down that you _can’t_ process until a distraction comes along and kick starts that brain of yours again. I was just trying to kick start your brain, so you could figure out what to do now.” Victor sighed, squeezing my hand.

“Fine.” I accepted his logic, knowing it was true.

“Thank you.” Victor let me go, “But if you do want to talk about it, at any time. I’m right here, okay? Anything you want to run by me, or discuss, I’ll always be available to you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Talking didn't help, compartmentalising and moving on did.

“Eventually yes, but in the mean time, if you need to talk, or anything, I’m here.” Victor smiled encouragingly.

“Just don't go round threatening anyone, and we’ll be fine.” I didn't want him fighting my battles, no matter what I did, what I said, anything. Victor didn't fight my battles for me, I could fight for me, and I _would_ fight for me.

“Alright, I admit, I did jump the gun a bit there. And did it out of anger, and the need to hit something.” Victor blushed slightly, “Old habits die hard.”

“Start going to the gym then, beating up punch bags is encouraged there.” I answered, glad for the chance to change the subject.

“I may do, being out of the field is weird. I’m used to being hyper alert, and having to fight for my life on occasion. It’s odd knowing I don't have to right now, unless we’re on a chase and the suspect is jumpy.” Victor admitted, I’d suspected as much of him.

“You’ll get used to it. You’ve adjusted to everything else well enough.” he’d been remarkably accepting of everything in the flat, and to his new life. Though, I guess practice did make perfect in that respect.

“That I have. Though don't ask me to _ever_ get used to Anderson, I don't think I could stand it.” Victor made me laugh.

“The signs of getting used to Anderson are the signs of a man who is in _desperate_ need of a good bit of danger.” I agreed.

“Then we’ll have to keep on looking out for danger then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else really excited for Doctor Strange? I'm seriously getting excited for it!


	52. Chapter 52

51 Sherlock's POV                                                               

Despite the argument in the restaurant, I remained in a reasonably good mood for a while, and managed to compartmentalise more of the encounter with John. It wasn't perfect, but I started to get used to the reality. John didn't care, John had never cared, John thought I was _useless_ and in need of a carer. John was _not_ my friend, was _never_ my friend, and _never_ would be again. He stayed for danger, stayed to keep himself sane, not for me. Never for me. He didn't understand me, didn't care for me, and only wanted me for the danger I presented. I would not fall for it again, or let him back into my life, if he thought I would, he was sadly mistaken. If I ever saw him again, it would be too soon.

Victor was pleased that I seemed to have turned around, and didn't mind all the hours I spent sawing away on the violin. It helped me think, helped me put everything into place in my Mind Palace, helped me to stop feeling like a pathetic failure again. I’d spent enough time feeling useless and lonely, only valued for my brain and nothing else; I wasn't going to feel like that anymore. I was going to get used to it, put the walls back up, and move the hell on. It was the only way to survive, the only way I _had_ survived my whole life. Held my head high, boxed up emotions, and acted like nothing affected me.

It worked, to an extent. There were still moments, when I remembered a particularly good case, or a meal out, or _something_ with John, where we’d felt so connected. Those moments always brought on melancholy incidents, but I pushed through, and never let Victor to see them. So what if I was quiet for a while? I was always quiet, I sometimes didn't talk for days on end, Victor knew this about me, and respected it. He filled the silence with his own noise. Talk of his missions, the plans he was making for other operatives, memories from our past, tales from childhood. Anything he could think of, he’d fill the silence. It was a comfort during those times, a reminder that I wasn't actually alone in this, that there was someone there. I wasn't actually alone in this, there was still someone who thought I was worth being around, and thought that I was actually likeable.

Of course, it would take a trip to the St Bart’s morgue to ruin it all.

Molly had phoned to say that there was a _huge_ tumour, as in one that weighed _three pounds,_ recently taken from a patient. She said that all the samples from it had been taken, and had offered to give the rest over to me for my own testing. I had accepted, because it wasn't every day that a three pound tumour came into the morgue, and had headed down there. Victor had come along, too, out of boredom and curiosity. He said that he was used to either bodies in their entirety, or the ‘red mist’ made after bombs had gone off. Seeing something like a removed tumour would be fascinating, also he wouldn’t have minded seeing Molly again. The two got along rather well, and Molly was clearly smitten with him, another hopeless crush never to be fulfilled.

The two were talking avidly about...something, lord knows what, while I was placing droplets of Hydrochloric Acid on a slice of the tumour when I heard John’s name come up.

“Yeah, the bastard tried coming round the other day, wouldn’t bloody leave until Sherlock talked to him. To say the least, it didn't go well.” Victor growled, glaring out the window, the fury on his face would make lesser men weep.

“Really? Why?” Molly asked, glancing at me like I couldn't hear them.

“Some delusion that he could get me back on his side again.” I answered, so the two knew I was paying attention as well. Not that I actually _wanted_ to talk about it, but at least if Molly knew, she could be more aware if John tried to come in and get information out of her. He could have sent Mike Stanford in, as well, who knew if the man was in on this plan, too. He was the one who introduced us after all...

“Yeah, said all about how he was actually Sherlock’s friend, that he actually _cared_ for him, when clearly he just wants to fix that psychosomatic leg of his. We both saw right through his lies, and yet he wouldn’t back down. It was ridiculous. In the end I threw him out, told him to never come back again or I’d kill him myself.” Victor clenched his fists. The severely edited version of the story was better than the original. Being reminded of the breakdown I’d had, along with the subsequent depression, was not something I enjoyed.

“Jesus.” That was the closest Molly ever got to swearing, “What are you going to do if he comes back again?”

“Kill him.” Victor answered simply.

“Victor.” I warned, honestly, the man was _obsessed_ with the idea, it was embarrassing.

“Fine, maim him. Give him something to _really_ limp about.” Victor relented. The tumour made a lovely hissing sound, bubbling under the acid.

“Won’t that get you in trouble with your bosses?” Molly asked, chewing on a finger nail and looking horrendously unsure about whether or not she should be hearing this.

“I don't care. _Nobody_ gets to treat Sherlock like that, and act like he’s just a pawn for their own gain, without paying for it.” Victor really was not going to back down from this. _Please don't say I have to have another talk with him about this._

“Of course, just... what about that blog?” Molly asked, glancing between the two of us.

“Let it die. Continue telling the important things on The Science Of Deduction.” I shrugged, it was a blog, let the damn thing die for all I cared.

“Oh... won’t people still be constantly wondering about when the two of you are getting back together again?” Molly started to look nervous.

“I’ll make a post, say that John’s out of the equation now. Nothing to it really.” I should have done that sooner really, come to think of it. It may have stopped all the damn emails asking where the hell John was, and when he would be back.

“Oh, it’s just that... won’t that contradict his post?” Molly started fumbling for words.

“What post?” I looked up properly from the sizzling tumour.

“Y’know, the erm, the one about John being on a break, and that he’d be back soon? That one...” Molly looked away, suddenly very sheepish.

“ _What?_ ” I hadn’t been aware that there was such a post...

“Er, yeah, he erm... he posted it, a while back. I mean, before... before he went to you. It was... erm, just around... a few weeks after he left. I think. I just saw it, because I was checking his blog out of habit, I wasn't really thinking. I erm, I thought you knew about it.” Molly whispered, “But it said that, he’d be back soon. It was just a er, a break. From cases. A holiday for erm... something.”

The news felt like a punch to the gut, and I wasn't sure why. John was just so _certain_ of me taking him back. He was, he was so _sure_ of it. I couldn't... there weren’t words to explain...

“I, I have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Strange was AWESOME! Anybody who's planning on seeing it is in for a real treat!


	53. Chapter 53

52 Mycroft's POV

He had seen it. Damn. I had hoped that Sherlock would not see John’s final blog post, or ever find out about it. The only reason why I had allowed it to stay up online was to keep the public from leaving too many comments about John on Sherlock’s blog. Maybe I should have had it taken down the minute I saw that John had posted it. Why the man was _so_ sure of Sherlock’s forgiveness I had no idea, he must have seen that Sherlock was really not in a forgiving mood, and was rather heartbroken. Couldn't he see that Sherlock _did not_ want him right now?

I mean, I _wanted_ them to get back together again. John had proved very useful to Sherlock, kept him alive and happier than I had ever seen him. I wanted them to make up and get back together, but right now, to keep on pushing, and to so blatantly broadcast your thoughts on the reunion wasn't going to help matters in the slightest. In fact, it was probably going to make things worse.

Now we were going to have to control the damage here, too. I doubted Victor was going to be very pleased... maybe I should have upped security on John, just in case. I didn't put it past Victor to break his promise to Sherlock and go after John again in revenge.

I was starting to regret bringing Victor in. Sure he made sure Sherlock kept to some sort of routine, and kept him well fed, slept and distracted. But his protective tendencies were rather dangerous when he was pushed.

Though I hadn’t had a choice, there had been _no choice_ in this at all. It was either leave Sherlock to muddle through by himself, potentially leading him down the winding road of drug addiction and God knew what else, or give him Victor, who could at least keep him from the drugs. It was worth the danger Victor posed, if not just to keep Sherlock from the drugs, and the potential overdose. I’d do _anything_ to keep my brother from dying, literally _anything,_ hence we were in this mess in the first place.

“Sir, is there anything we can do to control the situation?” Anthea asked, phone at the ready.

“No, no, I don't think there is. Sherlock knows of the blog post and its contents, there is no point in changing it.” I ran a hand over my face, trying to not regret John’s involvement in Sherlock’s life entirely, “Increase security on John Watson, though, without his notice if possible. Victor may seem calm now but if Sherlock goes too far off the deep end, I fear John will end up with several broken bones... including his neck.” Even if Sherlock couldn't admit it, John’s death would be incredibly detrimental to him. He would get worse, and he was already bad enough as it was.

For days, I watched over Sherlock, keeping an eye on him as well as I could without any cameras in 221b. I had to rely entirely on cameras on the street, and operatives on the ground. The reports I got back were... worrying, to say the least.

From what my operatives could infer, Sherlock was not at all well. Spending hours sawing away on his violin, barely sleeping or eating, not answering Victor’s conversation starters. Cameras showed when he went out that he hadn’t shaved in a few days, possibly hadn’t showered, either. His clothes were fresh, but his actual face and body made him look _ill,_ more than just ill, actually. Grey skin, deep bags under his eyes, he had definitely lost weight. Weight he couldn't spare. His coat was turning more and more into a safety blanket than a coat, wrapping itself around his body as tight as he could hold it.

Every instinct inside me wanted to step in, to get straight down to Baker Street and sort things out. To talk to my brother, explain everything, convince him that it was the right thing to do, that he was happier with John in his life. I wanted to get him back on our side, to stop him looking like this, to stop him _acting_ like this. I was scared for his future, worried that he wouldn’t have much of one if this continued, even with Victor by his side.

Knowing I couldn't even go to Baker Street to _talk_ to him was more stressful than I could handle. I had _always_ been there, _always_ stepped in when it was needed, _always_ been a part of Sherlock’s life. I had protected him when it was needed, giving him the best opportunities I could, I had _protected_ him. I couldn't protect him from here, not from this.

But going to him would distress him further; he didn't want to see me. If he couldn't handle John he definitely couldn't handle me. I wanted to go, though; I wanted _desperately_ to go to him, to look after him again. He was my little brother, I had to protect him, I _always_ protected him. It was my job. It had always been my job.

\--

**_“Mycroft, he’s so alone, we can’t... Sherlock looks up to you, could you_ ** _please **talk to him? Please, just talk to him; maybe play a game of chess with him, something, anything. I’m so worried.”**_

**_“Why? He’s got that dog.”_ **

**_“Because he looks up to you Myke, and you’re a human being. He can’t spend all of his time talking to his dog and that skull. He needs human interaction, and he_ ** _listens **to you more than anyone else.”**_

**_“In my experience he just insults my weight, while throwing peas at me at the same time.”_ **

**_“He’s just playing with you. But honestly Myke, just talk to your brother, give him some company. He needs you, more than you know.”_ **

\--

I’d always gone, always talked to him, kept him company. I stepped in when he was lonely, or in danger, or anything like that. Like Mummy had said, he _needed_ me, and now I couldn't be there for him. It was _awful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos!


	54. Chapter 54

53 John’s Blog - No POV

A Pause In The Game

Hey, so I guess it’s been a while since my last post. Sorry about that, but a lot has been going on recently. And because of this, I’m afraid that I won’t be posting much about Sherlock for a while.

Recently, we’ve been having a few issues. Between the cases we get from this blog, and everything we get from Scotland Yard, we have been rushed off our feet busy. We haven’t stopped for months, and while it has been great fun, it’s taken its toll.

I hate to say it, but I’m not a young man anymore, and running around so much is exhausting. So I’m having a small break for a while. Hopefully only a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, just enough to recuperate. Sherlock’s still available for cases, and always will be, I’ll just not be with him for a while.

I assure you that we’re fine personally, and nothing has happened between us. We’re still great friends; it’s just the case work getting a bit much. But we’ll be back together soon, without a doubt. So anyone wanting anything solved, go to Sherlock’s blog instead of mine.

COMMENTS:

You’ve never had a problem before with Sherlock, what’s up now?  
Anonymous. March 21st. 

Nothing, I just need a break, honestly! The cases just proved too much recently, I’ll be back soon.   
John Watson. March 21st.

Sherlock’s madness got to you didn't it? Must say, you’ve lasted the longest out of everyone!  
Mike Stanford. March 22nd.

Haha, don’t I know it! He’s the maddest man I’ve ever known, completely insane. Can’t wait to get back to the cases again.  
John Watson. March 22nd.

It’s okay John, you can say if Sherlock's proven too much, God knows he’s sent everyone else nuts over the years. You can tell us if you’ve left him. Nobody’s going to judge you for getting out of it.  
Danny Fletcher. March 24th.

He sends people nuts yes, but I haven’t left him forever. It’s just a short break, nothing more. I’ll be back again before you know it.   
John Watson. March 24th.

Who’s going to look after Sherlock while you’re away? We all know that he’s not exactly good at looking after himself.   
Dougie Judd. March 31st.

Lestrade has it under control for cases, and Mrs Hudson is going to make sure he eats and sleeps while I’m away. He’ll survive with their help. But I’ll be back to looking after him again pretty soon.  
John Watson. March 31st.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's officially NaNoWriMo tomorrow, so I'm hoping to get a lot more of this written over the next month, wish me luck!


	55. Chapter 55

54 Sherlock's POV

“Sherlock, this isn’t normal.” Victor sighed, grabbing me by the arm, forcing me to face him.

“Astounding observation, Victor.” I glared at the space behind his ear, not wanting to look at him.

“Don’t be sarky, I mean it, this behaviour, it _isn’t normal._ You’re not sleeping, not eating, you haven’t showered in days, you’re not okay.” Victor glared right back.

“Not sleeping and eating is entirely normal for me, I think you’ll find.” I yanked on my arm, Victor yanked back.

“Cut the crap, Sherlock, you’re not _fine._ That blog post has fucked you up.” Victor growled, “Now, what can I do to help you? I’ve tried being there, tried distracting you, tried many things and nothing’s working. So what can I do to make this better?”

“ _Nothing_ will make this _better,_ Victor.” Nothing would make this any better _ever._ For God’s sake, John was _convinced_ that I would take him back, that I’d forgive him for the lies and everything he had said and take him back. That I’d be _that_ desperate and lonely that I’d take him back and pretend that nothing happened. Like this was _nothing._ I couldn't believe it, couldn't believe his ignorance and arrogance.

I _wasn't_ taking him back, wasn't talking to him, or seeing him, or doing _anything_ for him ever again. He was lucky that I was stopping Victor from teaching him a lesson, or I was sure he’d be dead already.

And what was _so_ infuriating, I didn't even know how I would feel if I found out that John was dead, or even injured. I was... I didn't _want_ to miss him, and yet I still found moments where I did. I missed him and I _hated_ it. I hated him. I hated what he had done, I hated all his lies, and I just _hated_ him. And yet I missed him. Fuck I had _no idea_ on how to deal with this.

“There has to be, there is always a way to make things better.” I hated Victor’s optimism.

“There isn’t anything, okay?! There is _nothing_ to make this better! John actually thinks that I’m going to take him back, that I’m going to _forgive_ him for lying about _everything._ He thinks that I’m... he _actually_ thinks I’m _that desperate_ for someone that I’ll let him back into my life like nothing happened. He thinks that this entire thing can be _fixed,_ that our friendship being _set up_ and _lying to me_ the entire time can be _forgotten._ It can’t be! It will _never_ be okay, or forgotten, or fixed, or _anything_! It’s never going to be okay again!” I hated it, I hated it _so much._ It hurt, it hurt so much. Everything hurt so _damn_ much. I wanted it to stop, I wanted _everything_ to stop.

I had been _fine_ before that bloody blog post, I was doing well! Victor and I had a settled into a routine, I was getting over that last meeting with John, I was _moving on._ And now a bloody blog post had _wrecked_ it, _John_ had wrecked it again. I couldn't believe the hold that man still had on me, he shouldn’t have had that hold on me, should have _never_ have had that hold on me.

I should have been more careful, I should have investigated him further, I shouldn’t have been _blind_ to his deception. I shouldn’t have been so bloody desperate in the first place, should have just continued on without him, without anyone, like I always had. I should have _never_ accepted John so blindly. It was ignorant. It was downright _stupid._

But I had been so damn lonely, so, so damn lonely. I had wanted someone, anyone, to be there. To not leave. To accept me for who I was. Someone who didn't leave for once.

“He, he was the only person who I thought understood. He had been... he was _everything,_ and he, he lied to me.” nothing would make that okay, nothing could make that loss okay.

“I know he did, and it was sick, and twisted. It was the biggest dick move I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been in the company of weapons dealers.” Victor agreed, his hand moving from my forearm to my hand.

“He had made me feel _special._ I’d been... there were flashes, where he’d look at me, and call me brilliant. O-Or fantastic. A-And in those flashes, I’d be _human._ He made me feel human.” I whispered, finally looking Victor in the eye through my blurred vision.

“I was human with him. I was human; I want to be human again.” I didn't _feel_ human; I didn't feel like any type of person. All I was, was hated. And pitied. Nothing more. I couldn't... I just wanted to be human. I’d give anything to be human again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, it's really encouraging!


	56. Chapter 56

55 Sherlock's POV

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry that you’ve been made to feel like that.” Victor whispered, holding me as close as I’d allow him to, “Is there anything, anything I can do, to help?”

I shook my head weakly, not able to stop holding onto him, clinging to his shirt. I didn't want to hug, but I didn't want to feel alone either. I couldn't be alone. I couldn't _feel_ alone and inhuman like this, it hurt so much. It hurt more than anything else.

“Okay, okay, well, I’m here. If that helps, _I’m right here,_ and I think that you’re the _most brilliant_ person in the world. You’re incredible to me, alright? And you are _human_ Sherlock, you are so very human. You are a _brilliant human being._ ” Victor told me.

“I, I don't want to fall for his lies again. I, I don't want to let him get in my head again.” I didn't, I couldn't. I couldn't ever be desperate enough to let John in again, I couldn't be so _stupid._ I couldn't be so damn stupid, or lonely, or desperate. I couldn't fall for it again.

“You won’t Sherlock; I know you won’t fall for his lies again. If you even show signs of it, I’ll pull you back, I promise. You won’t be stuck living in a lie again, I won’t allow it, and neither will Mrs Hudson, Molly or Lestrade. We’ll all make sure that John _never_ gets his way with you again.” Victor smiled faintly, “His thoughts are wrong, he’s _never_ going to worm his way back into your life, and get you back to do his bidding again.”

“And how exactly are you going to stop him?” If Mycroft wanted it, it would be done. There wasn't much we could do to stop him. Mycroft always got his way, and John was stubborn enough to barge his way in, too.

“Well, put it this way, that rule against hurting him will be revoked. I’ll make sure he’ll be limping for the rest of his _life,_ ” Victor grinned wickedly, “Even if that life only lasts a few more _very_ painful hours. As for your over controlling brother who sticks his massive nose into _everything,_ hmm... I’ll have to get creative there. I think I could manage a thing or two to make him fuck off. If not, I’ll have a bloody good time trying.”

“I said don't attack anyone.” I half glared at the man.

“I’ll attack them if they cause you more hurt, like they are. And if they don’t back off, I think they deserve a _bit_ of roughing up.” Victor winked; I rolled my eyes, knowing I really wasn't going to change his mind on this. He wasn't ever going to change his mind about this. In some ways, it was nice to know he cared that much, but at the same time I didn't exactly want my brother or my ex-partner hurt. They were still... something, to me.

“Fine, but if Mummy comes on the war path, you can sort her out.” I decided to play along, it was better than wallowing in the pain of it all.

“Easy, your mum loves me.” Victor made me roll my eyes again.

“She likes _anyone_ who talks to me, let alone anyone who actually ventured into our house.” I answered.

“I know, still, my point stands, she loves me.” Victor looked triumphant, “Now I think you need a rest, you’ve been awake for days.”

“I’m fine.” I didn't need a bloody _nap_ like a child.

“Sherlock, you lying about being fine is what got this conversation started. You’ve been up for _days,_ and haven’t eaten or slept in that time. Now at least go and lie down for a bit, it’ll do you some good. I’ll cook us up a lasagne or something.” Victor gently pushed me towards the bedroom.

“Fine, but only because I’m actually feeling tired, not because you said to, alright? You’re not my carer.” I was refusing to have Victor turn into a carer. He was my _assistant,_ not my carer.

“No, I’m your friend, who’s concerned for my _best friend’s_ health. So go to bed, you’re in no state to even be standing right now.” Victor pushed again; I gave in, curling up under the covers and falling asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, once again, for all your comments and kudos, it's so encouraging, and I love hearing what you think of what's going on!


	57. Chapter 57

56 Sherlock's POV                                    

I begrudgingly had to agree with Victor, a long sleep, a shower, a shave and some dinner left me feeling a bit better. Not _entirely_ better, but at least a better. Slightly more human than before, at least.

“Have you ever thought of-” Victor started saying over dinner.

“Yes, and I’m not going to a _therapist_ to talk about it. Mycroft would get into their notes and know _everything,_ then try to stick his obnoxious nose into it.” I shuddered to think of that happening, the last thing I wanted was my brother trying to _fix_ things again. His last attempt had ended up in all of _this_ happening, and I’d rathered to have forgotten that all of this had happened.

“Alright, I was just suggesting. Any other reason you’re against it? Were your childhood therapy sessions that bad?” Victor asked. I shouldn’t have told him about those back at university.

“Yes.” I answered simply, hoping my tone hinted at my reluctance at talking about it.

“Alright, I won’t ask.” Victor luckily backed off, “But if you need to talk, I’m here, alright?”

“My childhood is long over, Victor, along with any other psychiatric visits; I hardly need to talk about them.” I told him, eating another bite of lasagne, acting high and mighty when I still felt anything but.

“I’ll let that slide, but you know what I mean. If you need me, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, so if you need to unload, or someone to let the anger out at, then I’m available, at any time.” Victor looked me right in the eyes, refusing to break his gaze.

“I know, Victor, you tell me this every time something happens.” It felt like clockwork, something worse came along, usually in some form of John or other, just when I was starting to feel alright about this again.

It was, quite frankly, annoying to deal with. I wanted to move on, but it felt like the bloody universe didn't want me to. A universe that sounded rather like my brother. My brother _and_ John.

Well, fuck the universe. I wasn't going to pay attention to it. This was my life, and I was going to move the hell on from this crap and get back to normality. Victor and I were going to carry on working together, living together, solving crimes, and _actually being friends,_ and nobody was going to stand in my way. Especially fat, overbearing older brothers, or ex-soldiers with psychosomatic limps. They’d have to learn to let go of it all. I certainly was, and everything they did just pushed me further away from them.

“I do, but you need to hear it, so you know that it’s okay to talk, to express your feelings, instead of bottling them up like always. And don't say you don't, because I’ve seen you do it far too often over the years.” Victor cut me off before I got the chance to argue.

“Emotions don't help solve cases, Victor, logic does. Logic and skill.” I worked better without the emotional entanglement. It made everything easier. Made the taunts hurt less, the loneliness nonexistent, the tedium just that bit more bearable.

“Yes, but don't deny the excitement upon finding out that there’s a new case, and that it’s even baffling you.” Victor smirked, like he had me.

“I don't feel _excited,_ Victor, I’m just glad for the distraction.” I didn't get _excited_ about things. Emotions were pointless, and I had locked them out a _long_ time ago.

“Oh _sure_ you are. And even if you aren’t lying, being glad is an _emotion._ ” Shit.

“And you can’t deny that you feel affection for a few people, too.” Victor said _what_ now?

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” Honestly, the man was insane; I had no idea what he was talking about. Affection for people? I didn't feel that. I didn't like people, people were idiots. And cruel. And anyway, no-one really liked me enough for me to get close enough to like them myself.

“You like Mrs Hudson; you view her like she’s your second mother.” Victor continued to smile.

“She’s a very understanding land lady.” I reasoned.

“True, but you actually like her. The same goes for Lestrade.” Victor carried on.

“He’s a tolerable officer, and one who actually listens.” I reasoned again, I didn't _actually_ like these people. They were just useful, and happened to be kind to me. I didn't _actually_ like them.

“Again, true, but I know you look up to him a bit, and are incredibly grateful for him looking after you when you needed it.” the word ‘cocaine’ thankfully wasn't mentioned.

“And then there’s Molly. I know you don't want to admit it, but you think fondly of her as a friend. You don't mind her company; it’s why you let her help you in the lab sometimes.” Victor looked smug as he finished, he did have me. Damn him, being able to look through me so easily.

“Well I may like _them,_ but that doesn’t mean that they like _me._ ” it was true, just because I liked them, didn't mean that they liked me back. The feeling was _not_ mutual here; it never was, with the exception of Victor himself.

“Course they do, otherwise they wouldn’t be so keen to see you so often.” Victor replied without missing a beat.

“Mrs Hudson comes up so often because she is convinced that I can’t look after myself or this flat. Lestrade needs me to solve his cases because his team are _morons,_ and don't even _think_ of suggesting any of them actually like me, either, because they clearly don't. As for Molly, she thinks I’m attractive for some strange reason, and I break up the monotony of her days, which is why she is so accommodating to me. It isn’t _affection_ for _me_ that they feel.” I knew it, it was obvious. It was always so obvious. I didn't _have_ friends. I never had. Victor was a fluke; Victor had always been some stroke of luck. Nobody else was, I wasn't that lucky.

“You actually believe that, don't you? That nobody actually cares about you, and only talk to you for their own gain, and never for your company.” Victor looked sad to say it.

“Haven’t you been paying attention these last few months, or at all at university? I thought that was obvious.” I hissed, it was so damn obvious, had always _been_ obvious. I wasn't _friend_ material, even when I considered who I viewed as a friend, and who viewed me as one, it was never even. To everyone else I was their crime solver, their tenant, their weird crush that didn't seem to break. I wasn't a _friend_ to anyone; I’d known that ever since I was a child.

“Sherlock, that isn’t true, not this time. They _care_ about you; they love you, just like you love them.” Victor reached out and held my hand. I pulled it away.

“No, they don't Victor. They don't like me in the same way. I’m not _built_ for it.” I wasn't, never had been, no matter who I pretended to be, no matter what parts of myself I hid, I wasn't built for friendships and human connection.

“You are, and they do, and I’m going to prove it to you.” Victor sounded determined now.

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” I didn't believe him for a second, and he couldn't make me.

“By doing something I should have done a long time ago.” Victor answered, getting up and grabbing his phone.


	58. Chapter 58

57 Lestrade's POV                                                               

I was just finishing off some paperwork when the phone rang, the caller ID telling me it was Victor Trevor on the other end of the line. Figuring it was important, because Victor never phoned, I answered straight away, hoping that this wasn't a ‘Sherlock’s having a breakdown/John’s back and won’t go away/Mycroft’s an arsehole’ call.

“Hey, what’s up?” I greeted him.

“Victor what are you doing?” Sherlock’s voice was heard in the background first.

“Shh, you’ll find out!” was Victor’s reply, slightly muffled, “Hey Lestrade, I was wondering, are you free sometime next week?” the question was directed towards me.

“Er, I have a day off on Friday I think, why?” I was getting suspicious, what could Victor be planning?

“Great, cause we were thinking of having a get together, with you, Mrs Hudson and Molly. Nothing formal, just a nice gathering, to have some fun and to get to know each other a bit more. You fancy it?” Victor was saying _what_ now? He wanted to have a _gathering,_ including _Sherlock,_ to have _fun?_ Was that... would that even be possible?

We had had gatherings before at 221b, like that Christmas party last year, and it had only narrowly avoided being a disaster. What with the whole phone business, Molly getting called away for work related reasons, and Sherlock running off, too, it hadn’t exactly gone well. And that was after he had outed Molly as having a crush on him, and about my ex-wife sleeping with the P.E teacher again.

“Erm, are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s not... we’re not really... _gathering_ type people.” I didn't know what to think of the idea. Kudos to Victor for suggesting it, but at the same time, was it really a good idea? Last Christmas party aside, Sherlock wasn't exactly a _social_ type, he kept himself to himself, he didn't like social gatherings unless it was part of a crime scene.

“I’m certain,” Victor replied, just as Sherlock shouted ‘Victor no!’ in the background. There was the sound of a struggle, the two men apparently fighting over the phone and arguing over the suggestion.

“Victor give me the phone!”                                          

“No, listen to me for once; I know what I’m doing!”

“No you don't! You don't understand at all!”

“I do! Now stop fighting!”

There was a loud thump, followed by a bit more struggling before a barely out of breath Victor was talking again.

“Sorry about that, Sherlock’s being difficult, you know how he is.” he still sounded rather cheerful.

“I do, which is why-” I started to say.

“I’m not taking no for an answer here I’m afraid. It’s been a rough few months, and I think everyone deserves some fun and to have a good time. Besides which, I haven’t hung out with _any_ of you, or gotten to know you outside of working, it’ll be nice to get to know some of Sherlock’s friends.” There was an emphasis on the word ‘friends’ and the sound of some sort of struggle, like Victor was trying to pin Sherlock down.

I had to admit, Victor was intriguing, and it would be nice to get to know him a bit better. The man was more of a mystery than Sherlock was, all I knew as that they were friends from university, and that Victor was a bloody good MI5 agent... Maybe I could get some information out of him about a teenaged Sherlock, or something like that. This could actually prove interesting, as long as Sherlock wasn't too grumpy, or insulting.

“Alright, if you’re sure. But I’m telling you that this may not go as well as you planned.” Victor did have to be warned, he may have known his friend well, but I doubted he’d been to a party with the man. Sherlock never struck me as the type to go out to parties for the fun of it at university, unless it was for a mystery or an experiment. And the less to be said about anywhere he went to score drugs the better, too.

“I’ll be prepared, I’m sure. It’ll be fine Lestrade, I promise. Just come along and have some fun, at the least we’ll have Angelo’s food to eat and bit of alcohol to drink.” Victor still sounded cheerful.

“Alright, you can count me in.” I gave in, because really, Victor was a nice enough lad who meant well. He was probably doing this for a good reason. Probably some sort of plan or other to help Sherlock move on from John, and I couldn't exactly say no to that. If it was to help Sherlock, I was all in.

Even if this ended in utter disaster.


	59. Chapter 59

58 Sherlock's POV

“Victor no!” what the hell was he thinking?! A _party?_ A _social situation?_ With _me_ there? Was he insane?! Was he actually insane? He had to be!

Social situations with me involved didn't end well, they _never_ ended well. I wasn't built for small talk, for social niceties, I forgot everything important, said the wrong thing, and insulted people. Parties weren’t my strong point, even with people I knew well.

“Yes Sherlock, you need to see that your friends care about you, and this is how we’re going to do it.” Victor was determined, holding the phone out of reach with one hand, the other firmly pressing me to the floor, so much so that I couldn't get out of it. _Bloody MI5 training._

“This is the way you go about things if you want me to lose all of them!” I glared at him, he didn't understand, I was fine with him because he was _Victor,_ and he had dealt with worse people than me. I was practically a holiday for him in terms of behaviour. But Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson, it was different. They had actual friends, people who were nice to them, who knew how to _talk_ like a human being. I didn't. I insulted and pushed away and I just wasn't _good_ at this! I never had been, I never would be! The only reason why the three even still spoke to me was because I was mutually beneficial to them, that was all!

“It isn’t, you’ll see, I promise.” Victor tried smiling reassuringly; it didn't work in the slightest.

“No it won’t! You don't understand, I can’t... I’m not _good_ at this Victor! I, I say the wrong thing constantly, I-” I was cut off.

“I know, because I know you. And I know _why_ you do it.” Victor softened his grip slightly, “Groups of people, even when it’s a small group and full of people you like, scare you. You’ve never been comfortable with them unless you’re being clever and sprouting deductions, so you fall back on it, and sometimes it’s even coming from a good place.”

“What good place would _that_ be?” I raised an eyebrow, unsure exactly where Victor got _that_ idea from, or just how accurate he was going to be here.

“When you tell Lestrade his wife is cheating on him, you’re trying to save him the heartbreak of finding out later on in a more painful fashion.” Shit, “Similarly, whenever you comment on weight gain, you’re saying it because you want to say that the person is either happier in a relationship, or sadder. You’re pointing it out to comment on a person’s well being, and both of those things are an entirely _human_ thing to do. You just do it in your own way, which is admittedly slightly misguided, but it’s coming from the right place.” Victor put his hand over my heart.

“I don't have a heart, Victor, I don't _care_ for people’s feelings, and I certainly don't comment on peoples appearances to say that they look better or worse than usual due to their current situation.” It was actually, but I wasn't admitting to it. That would imply that I cared enough to actually care about other people’s lives. That I kept track of them. That I actually looked out for them. I didn't. Really. Honestly.

I just... kept an eye out for signs that they were in trouble. Lestrade had enemies due to his work, Molly was a bit too gullible at times for her own good, and who knows if there was someone from Mr Hudson’s old network who would seek revenge on the woman who took it all down. My friends wouldn’t notice the signs, I would. That was all I was doing.

“You do Sherlock, and it’s larger than you want to admit to. But it’s in there, that’s for sure.” Victor smiled.

“I still don't want a _party_ Victor, it won’t work out. I don't do _small talk,_ ” mainly because I didn't know how to do it, “and as you said, _large crowds are unnerving,_ so unless you want to be dealing with several people crying by the end of the night, and being banned from crime scenes again, I suggest we skip the idea all together.”

“Nope, I’m not backing down. We’re going to have a bit of a gathering, and you’re going to have fun, and see that there are people out there who care about you as a person, not just your brain.” Victor was infuriatingly stubborn, and far too bloody optimistic.

“You’re wrong.” This was going to end in disaster. I was sure of it. Nobody could convince me otherwise.

“I’m not, and I’m going to prove it during this party.” I was going to wipe that damn smile of his face in a minute, I swore I would.

“No you’re not. All that’s going to happen is that I’m going to proven right yet again and you’re going to be stuck with the knowledge that I am not capable of _friends._ ” It had been proven to me so many bloody times, I knew my limits, knew what worked for me and what didn't. And what didn't work was bloody social gatherings. I hadn’t been to one party where things had worked out for me. Not _once._ Even while high as a kite. This wouldn’t be any different, just because I was fond of the people attending.

“You are though; you are more than capable of making friends, because you have _four_ right now.” Victor tried again.

“Only on my end.” I was a _colleague_ or a _tenant_ to them. They were friends to me, but I wasn't to them.

“On _both_ ends Sherlock, I promise. Just believe me for once, please.” Victor begged, I refused. This was going to end badly, there was no doubt in my mind that it would. Every other social situation I had been ended in disaster, the only time it didn't was when it involved some sort of crime or other. And even then half the time it still ended badly for me, making the hatred for me just that little bit stronger.

“Alright, how about if I set some ground rules, or some contingency plans, to make you more comfortable, would that help?” Victor asked, letting me go so we could both sit up.

“Contingency plans like what?” I highly doubted that there would be a rule to say that no-one was allowed to get upset with what I said, because that would be impossible.

“Well, how about if I say you can play your violin while everyone’s here, when you get stressed? It calms you down better than most things, and is easily accessible, and nobody’s going to bat an eyelid if you’re carrying it around with you.” Victor suggested, not a bad idea...

“And... you can wear one of your dressing gowns, again nobody’s going to think it’s odd, and I know that you’ve always been comforted by the sound it makes as it moves.” Victor knew me too well. Far too well. If only John had bothered to find out these things, or even bothered to care enough to ask.

“Alright, anything else?” maybe, I’d be okay with things like this, or at least a little less on edge. Less on edge was always a good thing. It meant I was slightly more in control of my mouth.

“I won’t stop you from talking about crime and murder cases. It’s what _you_ like, and it’s what you’re good at talking about. Or if you want to hang by me all night, and let me take the lead, then that’s alright, too. And before you argue, I _know_ that you can have a conversation, and lead it too, I’ve seen you do it many times, but that was all in work situations. In social, you’re just a tad bit more lost. So if you fancy letting me take the reins until you feel comfortable, then that’s fine by me.” Victor held my hand, squeezing it tight in his own.

“And as soon as you’ve had enough, you can escape to your room. Barricade yourself in if you like. Once you’ve had enough, you can go. I can hold down the fort well enough on my own, so when it all gets too much, you can escape. I won’t hold it against you, or tell you that you’ve done wrong, or anything. There’s no point in forcing you to interact when you’re too exhausted, or when you’re _really_ not feeling up to it.” Victor squeezed my hand again.

“Thank you.” I whispered, nobody had ever given me the chance to escape, to have comforting objects near me, during anything like this. I’d always been expected to either behave like a normal human being, or to just be rude from the start. Nobody had ever tried to make things easier for _me._

“No problem, whatever makes _you_ feel comfortable, that’s all that matters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little note here - I'm basing Victor's interpretation of Sherlock's deductions about his friends completely from headcanon. I do believe that he doesn't mean his comments on weight etc in a nasty way (apart from possibly Mycroft), I believe it's his way of saying that the person he's talking to his happier/sadder than usual. What do you guys think?


	60. Chapter 60

59 John's POV                                            

The A&E was busy, as it always was on a Sunday evening, and yet it wasn't fulfilling in the slightest. Stitching up wounds of strangers wasn't the same as it had been back when I’d been training. It wasn’t like my experience of stitching wounds in Afghanistan, and it certainly wasn't like stitching up Sherlock. There was danger in those scenarios, an element of risk. In Afghanistan there are always so many people in need of help, and depending on where we were, possibly also the chance of us being hit by bullets or bombs or anything of the sort. With Sherlock, usually I’d be stitching him up and sorting him out after a long chase and a fight with some criminal or other.

Here, there was _no_ danger. There was... there was just patient after patient. Dealing with simple wounds, caused by drunkenness or recklessness. Sometimes there was an ODing junkie, or something more interesting, but mostly it was all just _boring._ Even the life-or-death cases were boring. The danger wasn't enough for me. _I_ wasn't in danger, I wasn't in trouble, I wasn't going to die at any minute.

My life was _nothing_ compared to my life with Sherlock. And I had the pain to prove it. My bloody leg was agony most days, the limp was getting worse; my tremor was back with a vengeance, only calming enough for me to stitch someone up. I was dreading someone noticing it and calling me out. Luckily my record was flawless, so it was unlikely that I’d get fired, even without Mycroft’s influence. But still, the thought was worrying. What if my hands didn't calm when I needed them to on the job? What if the limp got too bad? What if I went back to feeling like I did when I was first sent home from Afghanistan?

I couldn't go back to that; I really could _not_ go back to feeling like that. I had to get back with Sherlock. Had to get back to his madness, his danger, get him to fix me again. I needed him to fix me and make me useful again. I needed to feel useful, and for that I needed Sherlock, he was the only one who could give me the danger I craved, the only one who could make me feel alive like nothing else could.

I’d put up with all of his moods, all the weird experiments and the violin concertos. Put up with his insults and his sulks and _everything_ annoying about him if I just got that danger again. I’d put up with _everything_ if it only meant that I got him back. I couldn't last like this, I really couldn't last. This was _not_ what I was supposed to be doing, this was not who I was supposed to be. I was supposed to be Sherlock Holmes’ blogger, his partner, his assistant. I was not supposed to be his ex-anything.

Why did he have to find that damn document about the arrangement of our meeting? Why did he have to go looking and ruin _everything?_

Sighing as my shift ended, I decided to call Mycroft, seeing if he knew anything about the situation. Maybe there was something I could do now, a way in for me to get back into Sherlock’s good books. Surely he was bored of Victor by now, or Victor was bored of him.

“There is nothing as of yet John, as I have told you before.” Mycroft answered after I asked him.

“Oh come on, surely there’s _something_ I can do to work my way back to Sherlock.” I was desperate here; I didn't care how small the chance was.

“There is nothing, as I have said. Sherlock will not be receptive to your barging in again; you have to wait for an opening.” Mycroft sounded bored of the conversation already, just because we had had it several times did not mean that it wasn't still important!

“Well when is Victor going back out on mission again? Surely he’s getting bored, or his country needs him.” Victor was a _spy;_ he couldn't just take huge amounts of time off like this without being needed back in the field.

“No, he is not bored, as you well know, Sherlock walks the battlefield of London, and it’s more than enough for Victor. As for his country needing him, he is still working from home; he and Sherlock work as consultants to MI5, to co-ordinate their missions. Victor is still serving his country as he is needed.” Mycroft explained, _seriously?_ What did it take for this guy to _go away?_

“Well hasn’t he had enough of Sherlock yet? Most people would have left ages ago, why hasn’t he?” he’d left once before to go off to MI5 and hadn’t been seen until now, from what I could tell the two hadn’t even _talked_ for years. To me, that sounded like Victor had had enough of Sherlock’s usual shit, and had dumped him and left the country to get away from him. Just because he was back now didn't mean he knew how to handle Sherlock any better, or had more patience for him. By this point the guy had to be at the end of his tether.

“No he has not. Victor is rather stubborn, and rather settled, at Baker Street. I’m afraid that he will not be leaving because of Sherlock’s personality any time soon.” Mycroft could not be serious, how the _hell_ was I going to get back to the guy, do what I was hired for, and sort myself out, if Victor wouldn’t bloody leave?!

“Can’t you send him back into the field or something? Sherlock will need someone to look after him then, and I’ll be the only one who can stand him for extended amounts of time.” I suggested, surely that would work.

“You do not understand matters of MI5 John, nor do you understand the combined power of Victor and Sherlock. Trying to send Victor away would not end well, and certainly not for you if you tried to step in again.” Mycroft made me groan, _useless arsehole,_ “That being said, I shall look into things, to see if I can help fix matters. Or at least give you a chance to talk again. Do not hold me to it, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos, it means so much!


	61. Chapter 61

60 Sherlock's POV

Soon Molly was invited to this get together, as was Mrs Hudson. Both had had similar reservations to the idea as Lestrade, but after Victor did some convincing, they both agreed. Molly took a bit more encouraging, but when Victor promised Lestrade’s attendance, she agreed more readily. Mrs Hudson on the other hand didn’t need any promises, instead Victor spun it as an idea to ‘cheer me up’ and ‘get me around people again’ which was more than enough for our landlady. She even promised to make us some food for everyone.

Victor suggested making some of my favourite biscuits, as well as a few of my other favourites. Mrs Hudson agreed, with the reiteration that she was our landlady, not our housekeeper.

“Of course Mrs Hudson, we know. And thank you for the food, it is greatly appreciated.” Victor smiled smoothly, oozing charm as always.

“Well if I didn't, who would be feeding your guests? I don't see either of you going down to Tesco’s any time soon.” Mrs Hudson smiled back.

“I do on occasion, but cases take up so much time, we get swept up easily in the game.” Victor put his arm around my shoulders, “This one is a whirlwind during a case, and I have to admit I get rather distracted too. You know how it is; a good distraction can make you forget the entire world.”

“I understand dear, my husband was exactly the same. He’d go off for days at a time, of course it turned out he was off either dealing the drugs, or ordering a hit on anyone who had disobeyed him...” Mrs Hudson started; I started to put her on mute, as I’d heard all the stories about her husband, either from her, the police, or from associates of his victims. Everything else, I had deduced from the victims themselves, or from Mr Hudson.

Victor on the other hand, listened attentively as she prattled on, asking questions when appropriate, nodding and encouraging her to go on, like he was actually interested. How did he do that? How did he do this so _easily?_ Talk to people so simply, get conversations going, not insult anyone like I did?

I did not understand how it was all so _easy_ for him, how he managed to talk about anything with anyone, no matter how tedious it was. He was just... he never slipped up, or said the wrong thing, or offended anyone. He’d never offended anyone he hadn’t intended to offend in all the time I’d known him. He’d made friends wherever he went, and managed to slip into my life like it was nothing. And now he was organising a get together with the people I’d known for years, and was getting along with them better than I was.

How could he do that? How was he so _human?_ Victor had always been human, even with his dangerous side. He’d always been human. Even when he’d been ruthless and violent to others, he’d always retained a bit of humanity. How? How did he remain so human, after all these years of violence and subterfuge? How did he manage these things? And why couldn't I copy it?

I’d always been good at copying, at emulating others. I could fake emotions and lie incredibly convincingly. I could pass for human when trying to get something out of a suspect or a witness, but I couldn't do it constantly. I always slipped up, couldn't get it entirely right. No matter how much I watched Victor, or anyone else, I could never get it entirely _right._

And now Victor wanted me to actually _talk_ to people like a human being, in a social setting. He wanted me to be human for a few hours next Friday, and even though it was people I knew, and I had contingencies to calm me down, I didn't know if I could do it. I couldn't emulate his easy going style, couldn't pretend that I was interested, couldn't hold in my deductions in conversation. I tried my best, but it was so _hard_ to get it right, and even when I tried _really_ hard, I never succeeded, not properly.

Watching Victor talk was making me dread this gathering even more, knowing exactly what I was like, exactly what everyone else was like. Everyone I knew was better at conversation than I was; they all knew how to converse with each other like normal people. They could at least fake interest, and could talk about things other than crime. And they didn't need crutches to remain calm in the situation, unlike me. Even _Molly,_ who had already claimed several times that she worked in the morgue because she preferred the dead to the living, was better than me at talking to others. Even when she said something deemed ‘wrong’ nobody was incredibly offended, they just brushed it off as Molly being Molly.

Nobody did that with me; nobody ever did that with me, not unless they were paid to, or had some reason to keep me around. I was scared of what I was going to say at this party, what I was going to do to screw up again. I wasn't _built_ for social situations; I had never been _built_ for them. And even with all the things Victor had put into place to make it better for me, I was scared I was going to mess it all up and ruin everything. I always had ruined every attempt at friendship I’d ever tried out, what would be so different about this night? Victor? I doubted that would make much of a difference.

He would be nothing more than a bumper, keeping things slightly more calm than usual. But it wouldn’t do much good. I was still me after all. And I was not good at, or made for, talking to people socially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter was amazing, thank you all so much for the comments on it!


	62. Chapter 62

61 Sherlock's POV                                             

The anxiety didn't let up, even when Victor insisted that _everything would be fine,_ in fact, he _promised_ everything would be fine. He would make sure that I was as comfortable as I could be, that I could always escape to my room whenever I wanted, that I could talk about crime scenes and murder with our guests. He promised me that it would be okay, that it would all turn out fine, and everyone would have a good time. But he didn't know, he didn't _know_ that, he couldn't know it for certain. He hadn’t seen me in a social gathering like this since university, and he had only seen that because he dragged me to it. I’d left that party too, because I didn't fit in, I didn't fit in now, either. This was a terrible idea, a horrendous, awful idea. Worst plan in the world. I couldn't do this.

“Sherlock, _listen to me,_ you’re going to be fine, alright? You’re going to have a good time, everyone is going to have a good time, I promise.” Victor had me by the shoulders, two hours before everyone arrived.

“You don't know that, Victor!” I argued, he didn't know it would be fine, he had _no idea_ that everything would go according to plan. He couldn't know, it wasn't possible. He was going to be _wrong._

“I do know that, because I know _you,_ and I know your _friends,_ too. You love them, and they love you, and they will accept you _as you are,_ alright? They know you’re not the best with social stuff, and that you struggle with it, but they still like you. They will still like you if you accidently insult them, and they will still like you if you only talk about crime, or if you disappear after a while. They will _understand,_ because they _know_ you.” Victor would not let me look away from him, like that would help matters.

“You don't understand, they _don't_ know me! Nobody knows me! And that’s fine, I like it that way!” I did, I liked it that way the most. I could deal with only ever interacting with my colleges while working, it was fine. It had worked for years so far, no reason why it wouldn’t now, too.

“Sherlock, I know you’re scared, I understand, this is unpredictable, there’s no clear topic of conversation, there’s no work to be done. Anything can happen, as people are unpredictable. But it _will_ be okay. I know it’s difficult to see that, due to past experience, but your friends aren’t like the arseholes you’ve encountered before. They know you, and they like you, exactly as you are. And right now, what you need, is friends, and that’s what I’m giving to you, because you _need_ them.” Victor’s hand held my face.

“I-I don't need friends.” I didn't need friends, I didn't _have_ friends. Friends weren’t my area in the slightest. I wasn't built to have them, I knew that very clearly, had had years of experience of rejection and being used to know that this wasn't for me. Victor was wrong, Victor was _so_ wrong.

“You do, you’ve always needed friends, because you are _human_ and you _deserve_ to be shown love by people you care about. Now everything is going to be okay, you’re going to do well. You have your violin, your dressing gown, and your get out clause. I’m also here to provide support when it is needed. So there is no need to worry, this evening is not about worrying, it’s about having fun, and seeing that there are people out there who love you for who you are, not what you can do. I’m going to prove it to you.” Victor sounded like he truly believed that, but how could he?

He _knew_ me; he knew what I was like. He knew I couldn't keep my mouth shut, that I repelled everyone away until they wanted something from me. That I couldn't make friends, or act like a human being. I _wasn't_ made for this. I was made for crime solving, for thinking, not all the rest of it. Just because I wanted friendship and connections with people, didn't mean I could actually _get_ them. Just because Victor had stayed, didn't mean he always would, or that he wasn't just a fluke in a long line of hatred.

“I, I can’t.” I couldn't, I couldn't do this. This was ridiculous, this would be a disaster.

“You can, I promise you can. You have known and talked to these people for _years_ now, and they have agreed to come and hang out with you because they _like_ you as a person. You’re going to do great, I assure you.” Victor smiled, it didn't help.

“They came because they want to find out more about _you._ ” I was sure that that was the reason why they were coming. To see what Victor was like outside of a crime scene.

“They came to find out about me, yes, but they also came to see _you,_ because _you_ are their friend. I just happen to be your friend and assistant, who has a lot of stories to tell about _you._ They want to get to know you the most, not me.” Victor promised again, he sounded so sincere, but how could he believe that? _How_ could he possibly believe that? How could he think for one _second_ that the people coming over tonight actually cared about me when he was there?

Victor with his good looks, charming personality, the ability to be a human being. He was their draw here, not me, never me. Not unless I could do something for them, not because they wanted to know _me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested in anything else I've written, I run a blog where I review stuff like film and TV, and post all of my book review vlogs too. Here's the link - https://writeabledreams.wordpress.com/


	63. Chapter 63

62 Lestrade's POV                     

On the day of the get together, I was ushered upstairs by Mrs Hudson, who seemed quite excited for this. While I was still trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to be here. Sherlock wasn't... it wasn't that he wasn't _good_ at talking to people; he could be sort of nice when he wanted to be, but he wasn't great at the small talk. Murder and science, he was good at, music, too, as long as it was classical, but talking about personal lives was difficult. He blurted out his deductions without caring who he was hurting. I shuddered just thinking about the last time I had been here socially, it didn't matter that Sherlock had been right about my wife sleeping with the PE teacher; it still hurt to hear, especially in public.

“Ah, Lestrade, glad you could make it! Please, make yourself at home, there’s food on the table in the kitchen, along with beer and wine if you want it.” Victor smiled as it entered. The man was dressed in what could be described as ‘smart casual,’ meaning jeans and a nice shirt, yet somehow the man looked like a model. He always looked like a model. Whatever posh school Sherlock and Victor had gone to must have had lessons in permanently looking like they’d just walked off a cat walk.

Speaking of Sherlock, he was stood behind Victor, looking apprehensive. He hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, staying in his usual suit-and-silk-dressing-gown combo. He was holding onto his violin though, incredibly tightly. Just like last time, now that I thought of it, he’d played for us that night.

“Thanks, erm, for inviting me.” I wasn't quite sure what to say here. We were currently the only ones here, and for some reason, I had the feeling that not pushing Sherlock into talking right now would be for the best.

“Well it was a gathering of friends, and you’re a friend of Sherlock’s, so it was obvious to invite you. Also, I have to admit, I was a bit curious, I’ve heard so much about you, and we’ve worked a few cases together, I wanted to get to know you a bit better too, if that’s alright.” Victor smiled charmingly.

“I could the same about you, though Sherlock hasn’t mentioned you much at all.” I grabbed a beer, as Mrs Hudson bustled in, carrying a tray of mini sausage rolls, I snagged one as she walked past, earning a titter about waiting for her to put things down first.

“Victor is a spy, his identity is supposed to be secret.” Sherlock spoke up, fiddling with his violin strings.

“True, but I _am_ allowed to have friends, and they’re allowed to know a bit about me.” Victor nudged his friend, just as the doorbell rang downstairs, “How about you tell Lestrade here about how we met, and I’ll get the door.” With that, the man left, leaving me and Sherlock alone together.

“We erm... Victor and I met when we were paired together during a martial arts class at university. He was the best of the class, but I was the only one who could take him down.” Sherlock explained, sounding almost _put out,_ like it was a chore to explain.

“Ah, Molly, so glad you could come!” Victor greeted from downstairs.

“Didn’t know you did martial arts at uni.” I answered, not sure what else to say. Sherlock in a bad mood was not easy to talk to in the slightest.

“Obviously I did, it’s an important skill, it comes in handy whenever a suspect gets violent.” Sherlock answered, like I should have known that already.

“Of course... what kind of martial arts?” I asked, Victor had said he wanted us to all get to know each other more, and to say the least I knew nothing about Sherlock, beyond his name and how bloody intelligent he was. Knowing _anything_ more would be good, make it seem like we were actually friends.

“Judo, Taekwondo, Jiu-Jitsu, Bartitsu. Then there was the more traditional boxing.” Sherlock shrugged, like it was nothing. My God, I’d always thought of Sherlock as lethal, but _Jesus,_ that was a lot of skill.

“Don’t forget fencing, too, we had a _lot_ of fun in those gyms over the years.” Victor came back in, followed by Molly, who looked rather sheepish.

“That, too.” Sherlock agreed, seemingly calmed slightly by Victor’s presence.

“Yeah, we were first just friendly rivals, then we discovered that there were actual human beings behind the masks and gloves, ones who had similar interests to the other, and we’ve been friends ever since.” Victor smiled, arm sliding around Sherlock’s shoulders, making the man’s shoulders relax just a slight bit more.

Maybe this wouldn’t actually be _too_ bad, as long as Victor could keep the conversation going...


	64. Chapter 64

63 Sherlock's POV                                                                

I could feel the wood of the neck of my violin creaking under my fingers; I was squeezing it so hard. I shouldn’t have been so anxious here, but I _was._ This wasn't what I was used to, I didn't usually socialise like this, didn't share information about my past, or any hobbies, with people. Not even _these_ people, the people I trusted. But here I was, in the middle of a conversation with everyone about mine and Victor’s university days, like it was utterly normal.

Was this normal for normal people? Was this what people spoke about at parties? University days? I thought it was relationships, recent holidays, work, things like that. But _university days?_ Was this normal? Was any of this normal? It felt wrong, it felt so wrong, and I couldn't tell if it was just me feeling like this.

I mean, I wasn't used to sharing, used to keeping everything about myself close to my chest, not letting anyone in. Here Victor was encouraging me to tell the people I called friends about myself, and somehow we had started with _university._ It was odd, made my skin crawl a little at the invasion. I wanted out already, but it had only been twenty minutes, Molly had only just arrived, it would be rude to leave already. Victor and I had agreed that I’d at least try to stay for an hour, to give this entire thing a chance.

But I was _so_ uncomfortable, felt too exposed. Couldn't we talk about work? Could we _please_ talk about work? I was better with work. Or warning someone against a bad relationship, or telling them that I could see that they were happy. It came out wrong, though, and that would break the seemingly nice atmosphere.

Why were social gatherings so _hard_ to deal with? How did everyone deal with this so often and not go insane, or offend anyone, or do anything wrong? Where did they learn the social rules and why couldn't I ever imitate them perfectly?!

“So, were there any other friends at uni? Lestrade asked, sipping at his beer.

“No, it was just us, really. I had flat mates, but we didn't really get to know each other that well, because we all had really different schedules.” Victor shrugged, subtly nudging me to answer, too.

“I lived alone, so there were no flat mates. As for friends, nobody else was that interesting, or they asked too many stupid questions in class for me to tolerate them.” That came out wrong, that _definitely_ came out wrong. I didn't mean, I just... I just... all the other students in my classes had been so _slow,_ I’d always been miles ahead of them, it wound me up too much, “A-And they were too different. Liked partying all night, were, were more occupied with who was sleeping with who.” Victor put his hand on the small of my back, like a reassurance that he was there, and I was okay.

“That or they were utter dickheads.” Victor followed up, “We were better off together, really, it was easier.” He didn't mention that anybody else who dared hang around Victor was scared away by me and my deductions. That or they just flat out hated me, and made sure that I knew it.

“So, erm, what made you decide to go to MI5 then?” Molly asked, blushing when Victor looked at her. She seriously fancied him, was showing at least four different signs of attraction. Too bad Victor rarely went on dates, or really wanted to settle with anyone for that matter.

“It was the adventure, really, it all sounded... _exciting_. Growing up, I’d always been interested in travelling the world, and had a huge love for action films. As I got older, I retained those loves, but also really wanted to help keep people safe. I could have joined the police, but that wouldn’t have given me the travel I craved, so I decided that spying was for me instead.” Victor explained easily.

“Victor also likes the drama of it all.” I put in, thinking it was funny. Molly and Mrs Hudson let out a small laugh, Lestrade smiled.

“Well, yeah, of course. That and we’re allowed to play with guns, and have slightly more freedom when it comes to taking down the bad guys. Not that your job isn’t admirable too, Lestrade, I know it’s hugely dangerous at times, and is of great importance.” Victor placated Lestrade, who didn't seem that put out at all.

“It’s also ridiculously time consuming and stressful, the pile of paperwork I have only ever seems to grow, instead of shrink. I dread to think what we’d be like without Sherlock’s help, probably with a horrendous amount of unsolved cases.” Lestrade waved it off.

“Probably,” I stopped myself from making a comment on Lestrade’s team.

The conversation stayed on Victor for from then, talking as much as he could about his work, a bit more about our adventures together in our youth, a bit about how he was settling in. I wasn't really needed much; Victor was handling things well by himself, like I knew he would. The man was a natural with things like this; he was such a people person. It felt like a huge contrast to me, who didn't feel comfortable in the slightest, even when I started playing a melody on my violin. I still felt so _out of place_ in the middle of it.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do about it. I mean, I was still _here,_ listening to the conversation, so technically I was being social, even if I was just playing. I hadn’t escaped off yet, and was doing well. I wasn't overwhelmed, or getting depressed because of the amount of people I was talking to, like I usually did. But I wasn't exactly _talking,_ or being talked to. So was it really worth me staying? Shouldn’t I go?

I didn't know, I wasn't even sure what I was doing. I wasn't comfortable, but Victor had said that I wouldn’t be at first, that it would get better, but it wasn't. Not right now, I still felt like a complete outsider, and like I didn't have a clue on how to actually _talk_ to someone.

In the end, I played until everyone left. Answering when I was occasionally spoken to, but mostly I disappeared into the background, just like always. Victor had been wrong about this being an exercise in proving that everyone liked me, instead I’d been right, they wanted to talk to _Victor,_ not me. Just like always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone in the comments has just pointed out that I haven't given this an exact time as to where it takes place in canon, so for anyone wondering, I've placed this sometime after Hounds, in an AU where Reichenbach isn't going to happen because Moriarty died in the explosion at the pool. I think I wrote it into one of the chapters, then ended up deleting it in a rewrite, and forgot to put it back in, apologies for that!   
> And if any of you have any questions at all about this fic, please do feel free to ask me in the comments, I'm more than happy to answer anything you want to know!


	65. Chapter 65

64 Sherlock's POV                                                               

“Well I think we can call that a success, don't you?” Victor stated the next morning, after a very long sleep. I shrugged in answer, figuring that it had been alright, in a fashion.

I mean, I hadn’t _insulted_ anyone, and I was fairly certain I hadn’t made anyone feel too uncomfortable. So by my standards, it had gone well. By others, it may have been a different story.

“They certainly found out more about you.” Of that, I was certain. Everyone spent all night asking Victor hundreds of questions, finding out everything they could about the man, I’d been relegated to the side lines, which was the opposite of Victor’s predictions.

“That they did, and I found out more about them too along the way.” Victor nodded in agreement; he seemed so content and happy. Was this how normal people felt after parties, or general social situations? Did they not feel completely drained of energy, and like they needed to crawl into a dark, quiet hole for a few days to recover?

“They also found out a bit more about you, which was part of the point of all this.” Victor continued, easily eating another bite of fried egg.

“No, they found out about our past, there’s a difference.” I pointed out; there hadn’t been much about _me_ in there, more about _us_ and our friendship. Not just about me.

“Not really, none of them knew _anything_ about you before last night, and they left with several stories about your university days, which are a part of you. That is a _good_ thing.” Victor explained, I still wondered what the point of it all was. Why did university stories _matter_ in the grand scheme of things? Why did my past matter to anybody but me? Why did everyone need to know how Victor and I met? It wasn't pertinent to any of our cases, or important information that friends needed to know. I didn't understand the point of telling them.

“It helps people get to know you, to understand your point of view on matters. It’s like... basically its fun to compare and contrast your experiences with others, see if you had anything in common back then.” Victor explained, “Also, I think you seriously impressed Lestrade by telling him all about our training.”

“He already knew I was capable of handling myself.” I’d taken down enough criminals to know that he knew that.

“He didn't know just _how_ capable you were.” Victor smiled, “You really impressed him with that, I could tell.”

“You also impressed Molly with all that information too; she was practically _swooning_ when you finished explaining.” I answered, it still felt weird, to know that parts of my history were out there. I wasn't used to people knowing things about me, I kept everything so close to my chest, didn't let anybody in, not properly. I’d learnt the hard way to not let all your cards show, in fact I’d learnt to not let _any_ cards show, ever. It was so odd to know that there was now information about me out there, that could be spread around more people. Even information about my self defence knowledge felt wrong being public knowledge.

“I didn't... You don't mind how much was said last night, do you? I mean, it was only university stories from a million years ago, but, you don't mind that they’re out there now, do you? I saw that you were uncomfortable talking about it, but when you didn't change the subject, I figured that you were just not used to opening yourself up. It was just that, wasn't it?” Victor asked, starting to look a bit worried.

“It was... fine. Just a bit... I’m not used to letting out secrets about myself, so it felt off.” It really, really did, my skin was still crawling a bit just thinking about it.

“But there wasn't anything you wish you hadn’t said, right?” Victor continued, reaching out to hold my hand, “Because if there’s anything, _anything_ at all, you don't want me to mention at all, then please do let me know, and I won’t say anything to anyone, I swear. Or, or if there’s something you don't want certain people to know, I’m more than happy to keep it from them, too.”

“I, I don't really know.” I had no idea what I could count as ‘off limits,’ I mean, there were things I’d rather never bring up because of the severity,  but everyone already knew about them. Was there really anything else I wanted to keep to myself?

“I... I don't want _anything_ getting back to Scotland Yard, apart from Lestrade. They have enough fuel without adding more to the mix.” God knew what they’d do if they found out about Redbeard... or the fact that I loved dancing.

It wasn't even that I was _embarrassed_ by it, it was just... it didn't fit in with what they knew of me. They didn't see me as someone who _danced_ or did anything _normal_ that others considered fun. To them I was a psychopath, who cut up dead things and got off on dead bodies. If they knew that I liked to _dance,_ in fact that I _loved_ dancing, then it scared me to think of what they’d do. Laugh, for starters. Then probably mock me some more. I didn't want them ruining something I loved, even though I’d all but stopped dancing entirely over the years.

“Don't, don't mention the dancing. Or Redbeard. Or really anything I love or hate, unless I’ve mentioned it first.” I ended up telling him, feeling like the list of ‘things to never mention to anyone ever’ was longer than the ‘safe topics’ list.

“Alright, how about if I let you run point in opening up about yourself, and I’ll just back up anything you bring up, instead of bringing up things myself?” Victor suggested, I agreed. It sounded like the best course of action, probably the best way to avoid too much being let out about me.

I may have wanted friends, and to feel like I was wanted somewhere, but I wasn't willing to give up my entire identity to them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, it really means so much, and is the best distraction from all my assignments!


	66. Chapter 66

65 Mycroft's POV

It seemed that Victor wanted to get my brother _socialising_ with his colleagues, interesting. Very interesting. And rather unexpected. Victor had seen how Sherlock could ostracise an entire room of people in one fell swoop at university, why risk trying again now, with the people he needed to give him cases/access to the morgue/a place to live? To me, it seemed like a large risk, one I wouldn’t have tried myself.

But, contrary to my first beliefs, it looked to be working. Or at least, like Sherlock wasn't making a huge mess of things at the least. Their guests left showing no signs of discontent after the evening, and were friendlier to both Sherlock and Victor whenever they met up again. Sherlock at first seemed apprehensive after the gathering, but soon relaxed as much as he could. Very interesting indeed.

And what was more interesting, was that Victor repeated the experience again. He brought Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Miss Hooper back to 221b the next month for another gathering, and the month after that, too. It seemed like it was becoming a pattern, that Victor was actually trying to get Sherlock properly socialised, to give him actual friends. That was... unexpected, to say the least. Nobody usually tried anything like that, nobody risked it with Sherlock, save for when it was absolutely necessary. Not even John had tried it more than once a year, at Christmas, and even then it ended in disaster. Once by a case, and once by Sherlock’s mouth getting ahead of him. I suspected that if that case with The Woman hadn’t been around, Sherlock would have ruined the party anyway with his deductions, just like he always had done.

“He’s holding _parties?_ Is he _mental?_ ” John’s eyes widened as he saw the surveillance photos from outside Baker Street. There wasn't much to see, just the guests entering and leaving, a few shots into the main room through the window.

“Apparently so.” I agreed, it was a risky move for Victor to be making, a risky move that could cost Sherlock _everything_ he needed in his life to function at least slightly normally. If he ran his mouth too much, went just a bit too far with a deduction, something he had come _dangerously_ close to in the past, it would end everything. Or at least, would make things _very_ difficult. If Sherlock didn't need one thing, it was more enemies or bullies.

“Is he actually trying to make sure that Sherlock thoroughly insults everyone, and so leaves him? Honestly, I know that Lestrade has a thick skin, but even he’s going to crack at some point. The man has been a saint over the years, but he’s usually putting up with it so his case can be solved, this isn’t solving any cases.” John sighed, “Let alone what Sherlock will say to Molly, or Mrs Hudson for that matter.”

“And just why is Sherlock wearing his damn dressing gown, and holding onto his violin if he isn’t playing it?” John continued on, “They’ve got _guests,_ and usually if people are round, the dressing gown comes off.”

“Coping mechanism.” I answered simply, knowing just exactly why he was holding onto those precise things at every event. Sherlock found comfort in his dressing gowns, something about the sounds they made as he moved, and his violin had always been a comfort to him. It allowed to him to think, kept him calm during stressful moments. Having both was supposed to be keeping him calm during a social situation.

“A what? Sherlock doesn’t need coping mechanisms, he copes just _fine_ with people.” John gave me a very confused look.

“That’s a matter of opinion, and according to Victor, he doesn’t and therefore needs some sort of help.” I answered, Mummy had thought it ridiculous, as had Daddy and I. Sherlock was a human being, he didn't need _comfort objects_ to get through a social interaction, he needed someone to play peacekeeper when he went too far again, because he wasn't capable of learning how to control his own mouth.

“With _objects?_ That’s ridiculous.” John glared at a photo of a smiling Victor. The hatred was clear in his eyes; John hated Victor with every fibre of his being. Not that I could blame him, the man mollycoddled Sherlock and waded in without considering the consequences. It was like he barely knew what was best for Sherlock. For such a good spy, he was terrible at working out how to deal with Sherlock.

“It is, Victor always has been of the opinion that Sherlock needs to be comforted constantly, that with practice, he could become more _normal,_ capable of multiple friendships. He’s always been wrong on that front, he may be good at combat, and at taking down criminals, but he does not understand Sherlock’s mind, or what he needs.” I did, on the other hand. I had grown up with the boy, had watched him from the day he was born to now. I knew what he needed, knew what was best for him.

Sherlock wasn't going to change any time soon; he was utterly _stuck_ as he was. He hated humanity as a whole, thought them all useless and stupid, and not worth his time unless they could do something for him. Because of this, he treated everyone with contempt, insulted as he pleased, and manipulated to get what he wanted because it was easier for him to do that, than to actually talk to someone and become friendly with them. No amount of socialisation was going to change that, he wasn't going to suddenly become a social butterfly with hundreds of friends. Hell, he wasn't going to be able to keep _these_ friends if he was allowed to continue at these gatherings.

Sherlock needed someone who could put up with him as he was, who could smooth over the arguments he had with others, who could keep him from doing stupid things. Who would accept his sulks and his mania without complaint, who would patch him up when an assailant had hurt him. Not someone who treated him like he _could_ be better, that he was capable of anything more than he had now.

Victor was all wrong for Sherlock, completely and utterly _wrong_ for him. He didn't understand Sherlock’s needs, or how he worked. They’re shared university experience may have been one thing, but now Victor was not a good match for Sherlock, even when you didn't consider his violent tendencies towards others who made apparent missteps.

Sherlock needed John, who could actually care for my brother, and treat him exactly how he needed to be treated. John did not push him into nonsensical gatherings and act like he was normal. He put up with Sherlock as he was, and did what needed to be done to keep things ticking over. That was what Sherlock needed, not a man who thought he could change my unchangeable brother.

Now if only I could convince Sherlock of that fact...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, they're all greatly appreciated!


	67. Chapter 67

66 Sherlock's POV

The social gatherings continued, once a month, whenever everyone was free. Always the same people, always in the same place, always with the same rules. My dressing gown was on, my violin was held in my hands and played whenever I needed, and I could escape whenever I wanted. The day after, Victor usually let me have a day to myself, too, to calm down, gather myself and put myself back to rights. Socialising so much was exhausting, always left me feeling completely wrung out, like I’d been on a case for a solid week.

Comparing it to cases, though, I never felt like this afterwards. As soon as I was done, I was riding on the high; I never cared for how many people I had dealt with during the case. The insults hurt, but it all paled in comparison to the thrill of the chase. This, though, there was no real distraction, there was only awkwardness, and the constant fear of screwing up. I already felt like I was screwing up every time I opened my mouth during a gathering, no matter how everyone reacted around me. I couldn't help but be abrasive and short with everyone, I was so _used_ to it, was so used to being that person with them, I didn't know how to be anyone else with them, how to trust that they wouldn’t start mocking the second I showed even a _hint_ of a chink in my armour.

“You’re doing well, but you _can_ let them see a bit of what’s underneath, if you want.” Victor advised, after everyone had left.

“I know that.” of course I knew that I _could_ do that if I wanted, like I could with anybody else on the planet. The problem was trusting them enough to let them in.

“I know, I’m just saying, you can show them a bit of the person you show me, if you want to.” Victor answered simply, casually eating his third mini sausage roll.

“I don't act differently with you than I do with them.” I denied, I was exactly the same with everyone.

“You kinda do actually. You’re a bit less abrasive with me, and a bit more open than you are with them.” Victor replied... okay _maybe_ that was _slightly_ true, but in my defence, I had known Victor longer, and he’d already seen the softer side, because I hadn’t built up as many walls as I had now when we first met.

“That’s because I’ve known you longer.” I dismissed it as casually as I could.

“You’ve known them all for a long time, too. You met Mrs Hudson what, two years after I left for MI5? And Molly and Lestrade for at least seven years each, that’s a pretty long time, by anyone’s standards.” Victor pointed out, sometimes I hated that everyone was so talkative, and were too happy to explain their first meetings with me to Victor.

“But not as long as I’ve known you. You’ve seen the best and the worst of me, so of course I treat you differently.” It was different, Victor had seen me at my weakest, nobody else had. And the only reason why he had seen it in the first place was because he had happened to be around at the time, so there was no point in hiding anything from him.

“Lestrade saw you ODing several times, I’m pretty sure that he’s seen the worst of you, too.” Victor didn't miss a beat, “Let alone Mrs Hudson, who’s seen worse from her husband. As for Molly, well, she see’s worse in the morgue on a daily basis. So that’s not really an excuse for keeping your guard up.”

“I always have my guard up Victor, it’s how I am.” I didn't like where this conversation was going. It was starting to sound like a _let someone in and trust them more_ conversation. I hated those types of conversation, it always ended up with Victor saying it would be good for me, and would strengthen my friendships with others, and me telling him that it was a stupid idea. I did _not_ let people see underneath the mask, not unless they had truly earned it, and even then I didn't let them in _that_ far.

“Even around friends?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“ _Especially_ around friends, you don't know who they’re really working for, or what their true motives are.” I knew that for a fact. Motives could be hidden; John proved that, people at university had proved that, too. People liked to get to know me, then use the information against me, or use it as a way to mock me. Proof that the freak had a heart wasn't usually a _good_ thing.

“Good point, but don't you think that those three can be trusted? They haven’t let said anything to anyone about what’s gone on in here, yet.” Victor reasoned, it was a good point, but I still wasn't buying it, not fully.

“Because we haven’t given them anything good to gossip about yet.” Mrs Hudson alone could spread gossip like wildfire, the minute she got something good. Clearly she hadn’t gotten anything good yet.

“Or maybe they respect your wish for privacy, and aren’t all huge gossips, or prone to mock people they love.” Victor made me snort.

“Victor, if you truly believe that, you’re the worst spy I have ever met. People _love_ to gossip, _especially_ about people who are different, I.E, you and _me,_ the minute we give them something juicy enough; it will be around the _entirety_ of London before we knew it.” I sneered at him, he had to know this, he was a _spy,_ he knew _exactly_ what people were like.

“You may believe that, but I don't, at least not about these people. I think that they care and respect you, and I think you’re scared to open up to them properly. I think you’re scared to let them see that you’re human under your facade, in case they start to see you as a human being, and decide that they don't like you.” Victor smirked, like he had me all figured out.

“ _What?_ ” he wasn't serious, he couldn't be serious about something so _ridiculous._

“You heard me. You’re scared to let them in, for them to see who you truly are, in case they don't like you and decide to turn on you.” Victor explained cooly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I denied it, no way was it true, absolutely no _way_ in hell. I didn't hide away things in case people decided they didn't like me, of course I bloody didn't. I hid parts of me away because they didn't help the work. If they helped the work, I would jump on it, if it didn't, then it didn't matter.

“I think you do. You hide so much of yourself behind a mask, pretending to be a sociopath with no feelings, when really you feel and care so much. But you don't want to show others that, in case they turn on you, and decide to use it against you, like so many others have done in the past. So you pretend to be someone else.” Victor explained.

“You can talk.” I interrupted, he couldn’t lecture me on being someone else, _his_ job depended on him playing at being completely different people.

“I do it for a job; _you_ on the other hand pretend to be someone you’re not so you can hide bits of yourself away and put up a wall, so nobody can see what’s underneath the hard exterior, so they don't hurt you again. You’ve become so good at it, you have no idea on how to drop it and let even the people you trust the most in. And I understand why right now, because you’ve been betrayed and treated like crap by someone you thought was a good guy, but still, you’ve hidden so much away out of self preservation. How didn't it break through? How do you hide it so well like that? Don’t you want to break free every once in a while? To dance and laugh and be _happy_ for once? Don't you want that?” Victor asked, his face almost pleading me for to agree with him.

“I’m fine as I am Victor, I don't need to be _free_ of anything, I’m perfectly happy as I am.” I was honestly perfectly happy. There was nothing wrong with my mask, nothing wrong with how I behaved, and certainly nothing wrong with trying to protect myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there wasn't an update on Wednesday, I was completely distracted by my assignments!


	68. Chapter 68

67 Sherlock's POV

“I really don't think you are all that happy as you are, but it’s late, so I’m not going to push it now. Let’s just go to bed, alright? You look exhausted.” Victor sighed; at least he wasn't trying to push it further. People who tried to push their way into my head generally got shoved straight back out again. Victor may have been an exception, but he wasn't _that_ much of an exception.

That night, I took the bed, as I always did after one of our gatherings, while Victor took the sofa. We hadn’t stepped foot into the spare bedroom yet, I still didn't want to go in, still didn't want to see what was inside.

I mean, I _obviously_ knew it was empty, knew there was _nothing_ in it, but I still couldn't go in, and didn't want to let anyone in. Just in case there _was_ something in there of John’s, just in case it brought back more memories of the good times we had had, just in case it made me _miss_ him again. I wasn't going back, and it was entirely irrational to think that I would be. It was also irrational to be thinking that a _room_ could hold so much power over me, to the point where I was forcing either myself, or my friends, to sleep on an uncomfortable sofa every night.

But I just... I wasn't _ready_ to go in there, or even think about going up those stairs. It just... it didn't feel _right,_ or good, hell, it felt plain _wrong_ to go in there. Because John had been in it, had had his things in there, had probably reported back to Mycroft in there, had spent his time planning new ways to _look after me_ in there. The room reminded me too much of his betrayal.

At least Victor never seemed to mind the sofa too much; he was slightly less alert first thing in the morning, but still went about his usual routine. Fifty sit ups and fifty press ups, then a shower, then breakfast, before getting dressed for the day. Every day, always the same, like clockwork. I liked it like that, it was a routine, something I could rely on happening every day without fail. I had his routine almost down to the _second_ printed in my brain, so always knew exactly when to roll out of bed, so I could catch some breakfast while it was being made.

“Morning!” Victor greeted, automatically spreading jam on a third bit of toast, which would become my breakfast.

“You are too cheerful for morning.” I slumped in a chair, grabbing the slice before Victor had a chance to put it on a separate plate.

“You get used to it after a while, keeping your guard up constantly on missions kinda makes you into a morning person.” Victor shrugged, stabbing a forkful of bacon.

“Well you’re not on mission now, put the guard down.” Mornings were not my thing, not in the slightest. No time of the day was really my _thing_ as such. I was awake whenever it was necessary, not that I was always _happy_ about it.

“Could say the same to you.” Victor said idly, oh he was _not_ going to continue last night’s conversation was he? Please tell me he wasn't.

“Be _very_ careful about what you say next Victor, _very_ careful.” I _dared_ him to continue. I told him last night, I was _fine_ as I was. The way I acted was out of necessity, it was survival, and I was _happy_ like that, he couldn't try and change that on the off chance that these people were _different_ from the rest.

“All I’m saying is that with those you trust, you can let your guard down.” Victor continued to casually eat his breakfast.

“So why don't _you_ put _your_ guard down and sleep in like a _normal person?_ ” I glared, preparing myself for another argument. We had gone so long without one, had gotten into a nice little routine when there weren’t any cases on, why did we have to argue _now_ and ruin it?

“Because it’s difficult to adjust, and there’s still a small chance of us needing to be awake because of a case, or someone trying to break in, though why anybody would try to break into this flat I have no idea, and sometimes it’s just easier to follow the usual routine.” Victor answered, was he trying to discuss this through _metaphor?_ Really?

“Yes, and sometimes it’s necessary to keep going like normal, because it makes _sense_ to continue like that, and because it’s the safest course of action.” I continued it on, we may have been still talking about it, but it was _slightly_ easier in metaphor.

“Of course it is. But, the thing is, you miss out on stuff by waking early. Dreams for example, some of the best ones could be coming around 9am, but if you’re awake, you miss out.” Victor answered; the sod knew exactly what he was doing here. Arsehole.

“Dreams are forgotten within twenty minutes of waking up, and are essentially pointless. They don't do anything to further cases, or help take down criminals.” That was getting a bit too close to the actual subject at hand...

“But they’re _fun;_ they’re a comfort to some, too. And, they’re an essential part of being human. Everybody dreams Sherlock, missing out is no fun at all.” Victor sighed.

“Dreams are for children.” I answered.                                        

“Dreams are for _everyone,_ age, personality, career, or everything else does not affect that. Dreams aren’t restricted to certain types of people; everybody can have them, if they just _allow_ it.” Victor reached across the table, holding my hand, “Even when they’re scared, and they run the risk of nightmares, the good dreams are still worth it.”

“I have had a fair share of nightmares.” I admitted.

“I know, which means that there are many good dreams around the corner, some are already here, you just have to _let them in._ ” Victor smiled, squeezing my hand in his.

But could I? Could I _really_ let the ‘dreams’ in? Allow myself to be freer than usual, allow things to slip a bit? To follow the metaphor, what if it went wrong, what if it turned into another nightmare?

“Trust it, Sherlock. Trust that it won’t. Trust that you know your dreams better than anyone, and trust that they _won’t_ turn out like the others. If they do, dump them and move on. If they don't, let yourself _be happy._ ” Victor encouraged, still smiling at me.

“I’ll think about it.” I gave in; maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Molly could be trusted more than the rest. They’d kept secrets before. Nobody outside the circle knew of anything we had said during these social moments, maybe, just maybe I could let things slip. Just a bit, not a lot. But maybe, just maybe, they could see a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I accidentally skipped an update day on Monday! I totally didn't mean to!


	69. Chapter 69

68 Sherlock's POV

It was hard to open up, to let others in. It felt wrong, uncomfortable, and dangerous. I _never_ opened up to _anybody_ but Victor, and only because I _implicitly_ trusted him. Nobody else got a look in; nobody else could be trusted to be allowed to see anything other than the sociopath facade I had built up over the years. Every time in the past I had let people in, it had back fired. My secrets were spread around my peers, I was mocked, laughed at, treated like I was even more a freak.

\--

**_“The freak likes to_ dance! _How pathetic!”_**

**_“Like a ballerina! Not so tough when you’re twirling around like a_ girl _are you?”_**

**_“Did you hear, his_ best friend _as a child was a_ dog, _because no-one else could stand him!”_**

**_“Ha! Not much has changed now has it?”_ **

**_“A dog? Really? That’s the only thing that could possibly want to be with you? Wow Holmes, how did you manage to score a dog to be a friend without freaking it out?”_ **

**_“Bet he stole the dog, and experimented on it all the time.”_ **

**_“Probably did, not even something as stupid as a_ dog _would want to stay with_ you. _”_**

\--

I was scared; scared that anything about me would get repeated back to Donovan, or Anderson, or anybody else who hated me at the Yard. I would never hear the end of it if they knew _anything_ about my past. They still liked to jeer at me for losing John, still gossiped and spread rumours that Victor was here because of Stockholm Syndrome. And that was just because John had gone and Victor had arrived. What would they do if they found out about Redbeard? Or about my childhood obsession with pirates? Or that I _loved_ to dance? Or, or _anything_ I said here?

I’d spent so much time being ridiculed for playing at being human, and spent so long perfecting the mask of ‘cold sociopath’ so it didn't happen again, I didn't know if I was ready to let the walls break down again, for the ammunition to be handed over to the enemy.

“What’s that song you’re playing?” Molly interrupted my concerto, jamming my thoughts up entirely, “Sorry, I’m interrupting, I’ll er... we can talk later.” She blushed bright red, turning to go again.

Victor noticed, and made encouraging hand signals, confusing Mrs Hudson as he did so.

“It was Niccolo Paganini’s Tema Variato.” I answered quickly; maybe we could talk about violins, right? It was something I loved; maybe I could talk about that? I was good at talking about music, I knew a lot about it, and it was talking... that did count, didn't it?

“Oh,” Molly seemed surprised that I had answered, “Erm... is it hard? To play, I mean. Is it hard to play?”

“Erm, it was at first, but I’ve practiced enough so it isn’t that much, anymore.” There were still problems, Paganini’s chord progressions were impossible to most, and I had spent longer on his work than any other over the years, just to get it right.

“Of course... when did you start?” Molly came back over, still hesitant, but gaining confidence.

“Paganini’s pieces? About twenty years ago.” This was sharing, it was incredibly uncomfortable, but Victor was grinning at me from across the room, giving me the thumbs up. So I must have been doing it right.

“Wow, that’s a long time! Did you start with him, or more simpler things?” Molly asked, fiddling with her glass of wine nervously.

“I started on the easier pieces, when I was a child, of course, any beginning violinist trying to play Paganini would be _insane,”_ that was rude, bugger, that was rude, “I, I worked up to him, got bored of playing the same old boring pieces everyone else at school was playing. I decided to challenge myself, researched harder pieces, and Paganini proved to be a good enough challenge.” That was better, right? Surely that was better.

“Right... why is he such a challenge?” Molly tilted her head in question.

“His chords, they’re near impossible for most to play. He probably had either Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome or Marfan Syndrome, or a mixture of both. It made it possible for him to play three octaves over four strings in a hand span;” I demonstrated using my own hands on my violin, “which most people can’t do, because they’re hands aren’t big enough. The impossibility of it was a great distraction, and kept me occupied for a long time, while I was trying to get it right. Even now it’s difficult; I only manage because I have long fingers.”

“Ah,” Molly blushed again at that, for some strange reason, “So, so if most can’t play it, how did it become famous?”

“Because Paganini was, at his time, one of the most famous composers around, he wrote so many pieces, during a time when the violin was coming into its own.” I told her all about the other composers at the time - Bach, Vivaldi, Tartini, how they were changing the violin’s place in the musical world. How pieces which focused on finger agility were seen as unorthodox and were shunned because the establishment wanted to focus on intonation and bowing techniques.

It was fascinating to me, completely and utterly fascinating. I loved the history of the violin, loved hearing how music had evolved over time, then learning everything I could. Violin didn't just help me think, it gave me so much joy, too. It was one of my absolute _favourite_ things in life, and talking about it with someone who was willing to listen was an almost unheard of experience. Most either didn't want to know and changed the subject, or already knew it all and didn't want to hear it again. Having someone to _talk_ to, who _understood,_ wow, the feeling was indescribable.

When everyone left that night, I didn't feel _as_ exhausted as I usually did, didn't feel as depressed. I felt... _good._ Less like an outcast, only there out of obligation. It really wasn't something I was used to.

“That was fun.” I told Victor, who was still grinning at me, like had been all night.

“I know, I told you it was worth the risk, didn't I?” Victor beamed, almost like a proud parent, “You took that risk, and I am _so_ proud of you for it. It took guts to let someone in a bit, to let them see your passion for something, and you did great.” He reached out, pulling me into a hug.

“Thank you.” I hugged back, and I meant it. Truly meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos!  
> Also all the stuff about the violin is true, or at least it is on Wikipedia! I thought Sherlock would try to go for something really difficult out of boredom, and considering his large hands, I thought this guy's work would be perfect for him!


	70. Chapter 70

69 Sherlock's POV

Things picked up well after that, I started to feel almost _comfortable_ talking to others. It still felt wrong, like I shouldn’t have been doing it out of self preservation, but I pushed through. I did the best I could. Talking about crime was still the easiest topic of conversation I could come up with, and felt the safest, but I made the effort to talk about other things - violin and music, science (specifically chemistry), and one memorable time, dogs. Not Redbeard, never Redbeard. I was getting better at sharing, but things like Redbeard were still off limits. There was only a degree of open I could be before I started letting everyone too close to the soft bits of me.

On the whole, though, when we were talking about the safer topics, it felt nearly, almost _good._ Less like I was an outcast from this friendship group, more like I was actually a _part_ of it. And like I was actually valued as a person, like I was worth listening to, like they wanted to talk to me.

I wasn't used to the feeling. Most of my life had been spent feeling like I was in a glass box, where I could talk to others, but it always stopped me reaching out and connecting properly. In more recent years, at crime scenes, it was more like the glass box was a prison, where I was only wheeled out when I was needed on a case, and taken back the second I wasn't useful anymore. I had always figured I would always be locked inside, unable to pick the lock and join the masses.

John had rattled the glass for a while, poked air holes in it, so there was a small chance of connection. But his revelation had sealed it up again. With these gatherings, and the more confidence I gained, I could almost see the air holes multiply, possibly even hear the lock start to click open.

The feeling was something I wasn't able to describe, apart from somewhere between uncomfortable and joyful. I wasn't used to this amount of connection, was used to being closed off and treated like a freak. To be treated like I was a human being was... it just felt strange in so many ways. I quite liked it, though, in some ways. It was better than being alone, that was for certain.

I found myself leaving the flat with more of a spring in my step, even when going to crime scenes, where only Lestrade was privy to the more personable side of me. He’d taken to telling off his team when they hurled their insults, telling them to pack it in, or expect punishment for misconduct. Donovan and Anderson were still cruel, but everyone else had given up for the most part, which was a God send. Even Victor was left alone for the most part, we still got stared at, and there were whispers, but it was definitely better than it was.

“You look happy.” The voice stopped me in my tracks.

Whipping round, I found John, standing casually in the street, looking for all the world like he was still my friend, and was commenting like he would have of a morning in Baker Street.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing here?” I hissed, he hadn’t been seen in a _long_ time, what the hell did he think he was doing coming back?

“I’ve come to say that I’m sorry, that I want us to be friends again.” John answered, he looked serious. My God, he was _serious._

“Not if my life depended on it.” I turned round, carrying on walking, but John fell into step with me, even with his pronounced limp. The cane was back, and judging by the way he was holding it, he _hated_ the thing. Good. He deserved the limp back.

“Sherlock wait, just let me explain.” John pleaded, trying to grab my arm to get me to stop.

“You already did your explaining, and I found it to be lacking in every sense of the word.” I didn't stop, instead speeded up. My legs were far longer than John's, and I could easily lose him if I needed to.

“I, I was stressed at the time, you were rushing me a bit! Just let me explain properly, now that I’ve had time to plan some words, you know I’m not good with emotions, not on the spot.” John pleaded, managing to jog to keep up. Funny how the hint of angering me further seemed to get rid of that limp enough to allow him to do so.

“You made yourself _crystal_ clear last time,” I ground to a halt, glaring at the man in the hopes he would burst into flames under my gaze, “You made sure I knew _exactly_ what you think of me. What were your exact words? Oh yes ‘Because he’s not capable of making friends by himself’,” I laughed without any humour.

“After that, what makes you think I would _possibly_ want to talk to _you_ again? What makes you think that I’ll want you back in my life, when I know exactly what you think of me? I’d rather have people around me who know the _real_ me, and understand who I am, and stay because they _want_ to, not because they were hired, and they find it convenient to their health.” I started walking again, making the most of his temporary shock.

“Because this won’t last.” John answered after he recovered. He was baiting me, pulling me into the conversation again.

“What won’t last exactly?” I fell for the bait, hating myself for it.

“All this. The parties, the acceptance, the feeling of belonging. They’ll soon get bored, or you’ll slip up, or maybe Victor will go away again. He can’t be around forever, he has to go to work, he’s a needed spy after all.” John explained, like it was a threat.

“Victor isn’t going _anywhere._ He knows what loyalty is.” I knew Victor; he wasn't going _anywhere_ any time soon.

“He does, and he’s the _best_ spy MI5 has, how long do you think it’ll be because he’s needed for a mission again? He’ll go you know, because he’s _loyal_ to his _job._ Then what are you going to do? Carry on by yourself? Continue having these meet ups with everyone? Act like everything is fine, when really 221b is so dark and empty it feels like torture to be there by yourself? You need me Sherlock, I’m the only one who isn’t going to get bored, or run off for another job. You need that in your life, not someone from uni who could be pulled away at any second.” John smirked, like he knew _anything._

“You know _nothing_ John, and if you think that I would take you back, even under those circumstances, you are _sorely_ mistaken.” This time I turned and left, didn't listen to another word he said, and refused to look back either.

He was just trying to get back into my life, trying to psyche me out. And if anyone was going to win at mind games, it was _me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos!  
> Also, I'm now officially on half term for Christmas, so I shouldn't miss another update if all goes well, as I've now got all week to write essays, instead of having to work around lectures! I'll most probably be taking the week off over Christmas though, I'm not currently sure if I will, but I'll let you know nearer the time.


	71. Chapter 71

70 Mycroft’s POV

“I told you to warn him, not give him enough clues to figure out what we’re doing.” I refused to roll my eyes, it was incredibly unrefined, but John sometimes brought on the urge to. As did Sherlock. The two were so stubborn and hard headed; it was a miracle that they actually usually got along. It was part of the reason why I had chosen John in the first place, his personality challenged my brother sufficiently, gave him someone to argue with.

Unfortunately, I didn't want them to have an _argument_ right now; I wanted Sherlock to start thinking about bringing John back into the fold again, because Victor was _not_ staying. That was all I wanted John to do, to warn Sherlock that Victor was not going to be around forever, that he would need to accept John back in his arms again, not practically tell him the entire plan.

If you wanted something done, sometimes you had to do it yourself, it seemed. Shame, I despised field work, and right now, Sherlock counted very much as _field work._

“Well that’s incredibly hard when it’s _Sherlock_ we’re on about here. He was being stubborn; I had to get him to listen.” John defended himself; it was a weak argument to say the least.

“Yes, and now you’ve just put my brother on the _defensive._ He’s now going to go home and tell Victor what happened, or Victor is going to get it out of him, and then he’s going to dig his heels in further than he already has been done.” I was going to have to find the highest profile case I possibly could, now. Or figure out how to make this current mission I had on file sound even more important than it already was, so Victor would actually leave.

“And on top of that, I’m going to have to leave it _longer_ than I already planned, so it doesn’t look like I’m behind Victor’s call back to MI5.” I had been planning on sending the order through Agent Atwell, but now it was definitely going to look like I was involved. Bloody John. His time away from Sherlock had made him slower than usual; his training was slipping his mind... maybe I should have sent him back on a training course or something, to remind him of how he _should_ be behaving.

“Well you couldn’t exactly do it straight away anyway without it looking suspicious.” John answered, arms crossed and still looking stubborn. He may have been good for Sherlock’s health and well being, but, my God I really did not like conversing with the man, especially when he was in need of an adrenaline fix.

“Any call back to the field would have caused Victor to be suspicious; he’s not MI5’s best for nothing. It was an incredibly delicate situation, but now you have gone and made it more delicate by giving things away.” The paperwork alone was going to be a nightmare, and that was without me contending with the crisis in Haiti.

“Well figure something out, I need to get back to Sherlock, and soon, before he completely screws up everything.” John glared, he was far too antsy, and in desperate need of an adrenaline rush. The situation was getting desperate for both my brother and his friend, it seemed.

John was in danger of falling too far off the deep end in his desperation for adrenaline and danger, which could ruin everything we had planned. Meanwhile, Sherlock needed someone who actually knew how to deal with him to step in soon. Victor’s plan to keep these gatherings going, to keep Sherlock _social_ were a horrendous idea. Every single one was lulling Sherlock into a sense of security, he was letting out more secrets about himself, leaving himself wide open for attack. If anything got out to the wider world, to his enemies, to the people at Scotland Yard, he was going never going to hear the end of it. They would use his weaknesses against him and it would destroy him. He was better keeping things to himself, suppressing it all, only letting pieces out when he was alone, where nobody could torment him.

And that was without the worry of him saying something insulting again. If he let his mouth run too far, made one deduction too many, or got too defensive, he could destroy the tentative connections he was making, and he would truly be alone. I had no idea on which would affect him worse - having his dearest loves mocked and taken from him by cruel words, or having his connections severed because of his own stupidity.

“I am _trying,_ if you hadn’t noticed. Now please, just leave me to it. And if you must see my brother, be _kind,_ and actually act like you’re there for _him,_ not for his PTSD curing abilities.” I sighed, hoping John actually listened. If he pushed too far, there was no telling how Sherlock would push back. But I couldn't stop him; I needed him there to give Sherlock more of a push in the right direction, for when the time came.

“I am there for _him._ ” John glared but left. I didn't mention that his desperation for his PTSD symptoms to be gone were getting more desperate by the day, and his want to actually be with Sherlock was dwindling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!  
> Gizmotrinket just pointed out that this could be seen as Dark!John, and I was wondering what you guys think? Think he's dark enough to have it added to the tags, or is he just misunderstanding the whole situation?


	72. Chapter 72

71 Sherlock's POV

I couldn't believe... what was John _doing,_ coming back here, trying to force me into taking him back? How could he possibly think that that was going to get me back on his side again? Was he _insane?_ Clearly he was desperate, the limp was getting worse, and the desperation was clear in his every movement. But still, how _could_ he think that that would work?

“He’s getting desperate, too desperate to leave things well alone.” I explained to Victor, pacing back and forth the front room floor. I hadn’t made it to St Bart’s, had doubled back home to warn Victor of John’s reappearance.

“Probably realised that he doesn’t actually have a leg to stand on right now, and is going to be limping through a terribly boring life, and has gotten desperate enough to threaten his way back in.” Victor sighed, “Are you _sure_ you don't want me to get rid of him?”

“No Victor, no matter what he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to die, or get seriously injured.” I wasn't that person, and didn't want Victor to be that person, either. We hurt others when there was no other option, not out of revenge. At least I didn't anyway; sometimes I had a feeling Victor had hurt others, possibly killed, out of revenge.

“He's trying to bully you into taking him back, trying to make out that you’re incapable of maintaining friendships, or even making them without help, when the opposite has been proven to be true. He’s insinuating that I’m going to be leaving soon, that I care more for my country than I do for you, which is not true in the slightest. He’s desperate, and desperate men lash out, it may be best to put him down before he causes some serious damage.” Victor replied, he reminded me of Mycroft in that moment, something I _never_ wanted to hear again.

“No Victor. I said no, and I mean it. We are _not_ going to hurt him, no matter what he’s done. Let him lash out, let him threaten, he’s not getting back here again, not while I still breathe.” I put my foot down; Victor was _not_ going to go out on a ‘hurt John’ mission. I didn't care what the man did; Victor was not hurting him, not unless there was no other choice. We were not people who hurt others because they caused problems for us; we were supposed to be on the side of the angels. If we lashed out, maimed and killed others just for threatening us, we would be no better than Moriarty. I refused to stoop that low.

“So what do we do then? What do we do to stop him from continually threatening and pressuring you?” Victor argued, he was not happy with my decision in the slightest. But he would actually obey me this time; I could tell in his posture, he had decided to leave John alone this time.

“This may have been an isolated event, he may not try again. If he does, we ignore him; make sure that we are _not_ interested in his threats, or his desperate pleas for forgiveness. _You_ are my partner, now, not him, and he never will be again.” I answered; I would think of something if it escalated, I always did. But, right now, this could be an isolated incident. My brother may stop John before he could come back again.

My brother...                                                                                    

“Now there is the possibility that Mycroft is also involved in this, which is actually rather likely, because the man can’t keep his big nose out of _anything._ If John’s threats were coming from a plan from up high, then we may have an issue. We’ll have to fight tooth and nail to keep you here.” There would be nothing stopping my brother from taking Victor away on a mission, I was sure of it. If he could pull him out of one, then he could certainly send him back in, even against his will.

“He can’t send me back onto a mission, not without a _lot_ of help. Don't forget, I’m MI5’s finest, his goons won’t be a match for me, especially if you’re by my side.” Victor gave me a look of utter confidence. Sometimes I forgot he hadn’t seen Mycroft at full power, he had left for his spying adventures when my brother was still climbing the political ladder. He had only been given a taste of what he could do.

“My brother’s goons may be stupid in some cases, but they are still highly trained, we won’t be a match for a group of them together.” I was sure of it, I had tested his forces skills often enough. He used to weed out the weak during my junkie days by sending them after me. Even while high, I had been an impressive opponent, anybody who couldn't capture me had been fired on the spot. The tradition had continued even after I had gotten clean. The goons were stupid, but they knew how to do their jobs.

“Then I will refuse to go, will appeal every single day I can. I will escape and get back to you, because he can’t monitor me every second I’m on mission, not without compromising the entire thing. I’ll bring in someone else, and get back to you. He can’t stop me, no matter how much power he has.” Victor promised, holding onto my shoulders, “He will _not_ separate us; he will not force John back onto you, or try to control your life anymore. You are a free man, and we will not let him continue to try and control you like an animal.”

If only he knew the depths of my brother’s power, how much that man could do. If Mycroft wanted something, he got it, no matter what the cost. I had no doubt that if he wanted Victor and I separated, then he would manage it.

The one thing he would continually fail on, though was John coming back to me. That would _never_ happen again. He was not coming back, or being brought back into the fold, or anything, ever again. He was gone, and no amount of enforced loneliness, or threats, or anything, was going to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, you've all kept me going while finishing off the metric tonne of uni work I was given!  
> And just to let you know, I've got the rest of this fic completely planned out! I'm still having problems with some chapters, but I know exactly where I'm going with it, so I should be finished writing it by the end of January!


	73. Chapter 73

72 Sherlock's POV

“Right, good, just so we’re clear. I’m indefinitely on leave, and no orders from above are going to make me come back, I don't care how high it goes.” Victor was speaking to his superior, the one we worked with on occasion, “Yes that includes _him,_ I don't care what he threatens me with, I’m _not_ going back into the field. I’ll help co-ordinate a mission, but I’m not going back into the field, if he tries to make me, let’s just say he’s going to be a few foot soldiers down.”

Meanwhile, I was texting Lestrade, making sure he knew about the situation, too.

‘John came back, be vigilant in case he comes to talk to you. SH.’

‘Really? Shit, will keep an eye out for you. Want me to warn Donovan and co?’

‘Don't be stupid Lestrade. SH.’ Of course I didn't want him to warn them of the situation.

‘What if he tries to talk to them instead then? He’ll figure out that I won’t talk to him.’ damn, that was a point.

‘They don't know anything about this situation, and he can’t gain any information from them that isn’t either obvious or public knowledge. SH.’ I mean, it wasn't like I had moved or anything. If John was _really_ desperate for information, he would have to go to Lestrade, Molly or Mrs Hudson, who would refuse to say anything to him.

‘Good point. Will keep an eye out, and warn the desk sergeants to not let him in.’ That would be an acceptable thing to do, the less chances John had to get into Scotland Yard, the better.

“Trust me, it doesn’t take balls to stand up to Mycroft Holmes, it just takes a good amount of contempt and hate for the man.” Victor was saying, I had to smirk at the way he said it. Heavy on the sarcasm, like he thought it was obvious. I approved.

“Alright, thanks. Keep me in the loop, in case he or John come snooping, I’ll email you a photo of John so you know who he is. They may not come along, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Victor finished the call.

“Lestrade is warned, as is Molly, Mrs Hudson and your superiors at MI5, is there anybody else?” I couldn't think of anybody else in our close loop, but Victor may have had some other contacts.

“How about your homeless network? Are they likely to talk to John?” Victor asked.

“Not particularly. I told them all to not trust John after he first left, and they never really talked to him before. I made sure they always spoke to me, and me alone, even when John was there.” It hadn’t been anything against John at the time, but I was just a lot more comfortable getting messages from the network myself. They had grown loyal to me, and there was a level of mutual trust there, I hadn’t wanted anybody else involved. Middle men could relay information wrong, or an enemy could be mistaken for a friend. If the network only ever dealt with me, then I could be sure that the information I got was not corrupted, or leaked to anybody else for that matter.

“Then we should be safe in that respect. Nobody is going to be leaking anything to John or Mycroft without some sort of serious amount of torture, or threatening.” Victor sighed; we both knew that that could be a serious threat.

Mycroft didn't stop at anything to keep me under his thumb, and I didn't put it past him to extract information from my friends through interrogation. And by interrogation, I meant something a _lot_ worse.

As for John, God knows what he would do to get information. He had been so desperate this morning, ridiculously so. He wanted back into the fold, wanted to be back with me, and the way he was acting made it seem like he would do anything to get what he wanted. I wished it would be a one off incident, and that he wouldn’t come back, but I couldn't promise it. Who knew if there was actually some sort of plan going on behind our backs? Who knew if there was actually something going on, or if John was just desperate and trying to get into my head?

I hoped he was just trying to get into my head, and that he wasn't planning something with Mycroft. If they were, I had very little doubt of them succeeding, or at least getting very close to succeeding. Mycroft was so resourceful, knew the ins and outs of _everything._ He wasn't just the British Government, he was MI5 too, and the CIA on a freelance basis. He had eyes and ears _everywhere,_ if he wanted to send Victor back out on mission again, he would, without much fight. Even if Victor managed to get back to me, how long would he be able to stay? How far would my brother go to make sure it was John by my side, instead of Victor?

The idea was terrifying, I didn't _want_ John back, I didn't want Victor to go. I wanted to decide who stayed in my life, who I worked with, who I trusted. I didn't want to fight to keep my friends, to keep the life I wanted. I just wanted to be left alone to get on with things, to be allowed to live how I wanted to, without interference. Why was that too much to ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know that I won't be updating from Friday until the following Wednesday, as it's Christmas!


	74. Chapter 74

73 Mycroft’s POV

Thanks to John, I now had the more difficult task of figuring out when would be the right moment to bring Victor back into the fold again. It had to be done carefully, with precision, so things didn't get too out of control. I had to strike at the most opportune time, when my brother and his associate were not expecting it. Of course, they now were on guard for signs of my interference, so I would have to wait until they relaxed again. Lord knew when that was going to be.

“Sir, I have the mission files you requested.” Anthea stepped in, handing me the previously asked for files.

“Thank you Anthea, are these all MI5’s top priority cases?” I had only wanted those, as those were the types of missions Victor was desperately needed for.

“Of course, Sir, these are their top five cases, some of which Trevor has worked on before.” Anthea smiled and left.

I took my time perusing the files, weighing each mission’s importance, how dangerous each was, and how long it would take to finish each. One would take Victor to Eastern Europe and take about six months; another would send him to Serbia for an untold amount of time. The others also sounded complicated and long winded; each would take at least six months to complete, if not longer, and required constant undercover work. No chance to escape back to England for a while, or to contact friends outside of the agent’s handler. All perfect for Victor’s expertise, and perfect for getting him out of the way.

The problem was, I couldn't send him in _now,_ I would have to wait so he wasn't suspicious. Well, he was going to be suspicious anyway, but if I tried to send him now, he would know straight away that John’s warning was very real indeed. And if Victor knew, Sherlock would, too. And if Sherlock knew, then all hell would break lose. He wasn't prepared to give up his new companion, even though it must have been obvious that the man was an idiot when it came to looking after my brother. I knew that if I tried to take him away now, then I would have a fight on my hands.

I would have one anyway, but if I could take them by surprise in a few months time, then maybe I had a chance of getting Victor onto the mission. Or at least get him separated from Sherlock, which was half the battle. Then I just had to convince Victor that he was needed on this mission desperately, that nobody else could manage it. That shouldn’t have been too hard, Victor was the best MI5 had, and he knew it too.

If he didn't comply, though, well, everyone had a pressure point, and I would exploit it until he gave in and went away. If he so happened to end up permanently on missions from then on, then that wasn't my fault. MI5 needed their top agent, he just happened to be it; it would be _nothing_ to do with me.

And while Victor was away, John could step back into my brother’s life, and things would return to normal. No more _parties_ which gave Sherlock too many opportunities to ruin his thin friendships with others, no more chances for him to wreck everything we had worked for. Victor was leading him down the path of no return, giving him too many chances to utterly wreck the flimsy excuses he had of friendship. He didn't understand that Sherlock wasn't _capable,_ that I’d spent _years_ drumming it into him that it was not worth the time or the effort to make connections with others for the sake of companionship. Sherlock couldn't handle that type of thing; normal people could not stand him for too long.

They didn't understand his quirks, or that his deductions were his way of communicating. He offended easily, and never recovered those he lost, which broke his heart every time. I had spent _years_ making sure he knew that, helping him to close off the parts of him which were mocked and ridiculed so he didn't have to go through it again. And now Victor was trying to break those years of training, to make him _open up_ again. He was making sure Sherlock was heading for a disaster, and he didn't even seem to care.

I had to stop him, to get John back into the fold. John knew how to take care of Sherlock, to smooth over ruffled feathers. He knew better than to try and change my brother, or to give him chances to wreck every relationship he had. John needed to be there instead of Victor, he knew what to do with him, how to control him, I would not let Victor let my brother run wild and ruin everything he had built. I would not let my brother be miserable again.

“Anthea, can you fetch me the files for the cases that are going to be a priority in a few months time?” none of these cases would work, it would be too late to send someone out in several months time, things needed to done about these dealers _now._ I had to look at other cases, ones that would be becoming priorities later on.

“Shall I only fetch the most dangerous, Sir?” Anthea asked, the noise on the other end of the receiver telling me she was already searching for information.

“Yes.” Victor needed something incredibly dangerous, something he couldn't resist. He needed something that would get him out of the way, and distract him from thinking about going back to my brother.

I needed the man gone, and I would do anything to ensure he _stayed_ gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update before Christmas, I'll be back next Wednesday at the latest! So I wish all of you a very merry Christmas for those who celebrate it, happy holidays to everyone else!


	75. Chapter 75

74 Sherlock's POV

Victor and I were on guard for _days,_ looking out for any sign of John, or Mycroft, or anybody else’s intervention. After John’s warning, I wasn't taking any chances, I didn't care if it was all for nothing. I _had_ to make sure Victor remained here, not on mission for MI5. He couldn't leave me; he couldn't be forced to leave me by my brother, who thought he knew what was best for me when he didn't. He knew _nothing_ about what I wanted, and had no respect for my wishes, either. I wasn't about to let him take away Victor, I refused to let him take another thing from me.

“Just how many things has your brother ruined for you?” Victor asked as I paced, four days after John’s first warning.

“Approximately eighty-seven.” I had lost count over the years, the asshole stuck his fat nose into _everything,_ “And that’s not including all the things he told me as a child.” Lying arsehole _horrible_ big brother. I wished I had been an only child, wished I could have spent my life without him getting in the way.

“Like the East Wind crap?” Victor asked, I nodded. My brother had _loved_ that story, loved to tell me at every available opportunity that the East Wind would come and pluck the unworthy from the earth, the unworthy being me. He made sure I _knew_ I was unworthy of our parent’s love, of having friends, of being _normal._ And he definitely made sure that I was terrified as a child of the East Wind and its ability to take me away.

“He’s always made sure that I knew that he was in charge of me, that he’s the better one, it’s practically a compulsion. And he won’t stop until he gets his way.” I knew that this could all just be John trying to threaten me into letting him back, that this could all be John and his desperation. But damn it he was working for _Mycroft,_ anything could be true! My brother had so much reach, so much power; he could be controlling things behind the scenes.

It could be a warning, a message to say that our freedom was running out, and I had no doubt in my mind that Mycroft would want to take over my life again. He had left me alone for a long time now, and that had to be grating. He wasn't used to letting me be, he would want to take back control.

“Well what did I tell you before? We will fight back, and we won’t let him win, alright? He’s just a man, a very powerful man at that, but the thing is, we’re better together than he is by himself. Sure he’s got an army behind him, and resources we can’t even dream of. But, you’re a _genius,_ and a highly trained one at that. You notice things when they’re out of the ordinary, and have a huge network spread across London who are trained at spotting differences in people, which indicate that something is going down. I’m also trained to notice when I’m being followed, and have been trained to avoid being captured. The both of us together have more combat training than Mycroft’s men, and have secret bolt holes across the city, hell I have some _outside_ the city too. If we notice, or get notice, of things starting to slide, then we can run, or we can fight. Your brother is powerful, but there’s things about us even he doesn’t know about, and we can use that to our advantage.” Victor promised.

“My brother is powerful and clever enough to track us down no matter where we go.” He had eyes and ears everywhere, possibly more than I did. And someone like him wouldn’t just give up; he’d get to us eventually.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t surprise him. He won’t expect me to leave a mission unfinished, which I will do to get back to you. And he won’t expect you to not take John back; he won’t expect you to carry on without him, to stick with your real friends instead. He’ll expect you to blow up, to panic and breakdown, possibly get close to the drugs again, he won’t expect you to fall back on someone like Lestrade instead.” Victor explained.

“And how do you know that Lestrade would put up with me?” honestly, there was no _way_ he would. Victor was still an outlier here, just because we could spend time together socially for one night a month, didn't mean we could spend all of our time together.

“Because I spoke to him, I spoke to him, Molly and Mrs Hudson. _All_ of whom love you, and want you to be _safe._ So they’ve promised to be there for you when you need them, if I get sent off, until I get back. You’ve got an entire network here who aren’t going to let you fall through the cracks if your brother enacts some crazy scheme. And while it may take me a while to escape my mission, I will get back to you, and from there, we will figure a way out of this.” Victor was so sure, so determined, and just the thought of him being so determined to stay with me was incredible. I didn't even know what to say to that in response.

“So, why don't you tell me some of the shit your brother has done to you in the past, so we know how to avoid similar in the future?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everybody had a happy holiday!


	76. Chapter 76

75 Sherlock's POV                              

“You know enough of what Mycroft has done to me, you were _there_ for some of it.” he’d heard enough of our arguments during our university years, and had been told of some of the war stories from Mummy. He didn't need to be told yet _more_ of it.

“I’ve heard some of it, from other people, not from you.” Victor replied simply.

“It doesn’t matter, Victor, you don't need to know anything more than you already do. We both know how my brother works, and how to look after ourselves, we can avoid him without having to over share.” I wasn't in the mood for sharing, for saying _anything_ about my experiences with my brother. Victor knew enough of him; he didn't need to know much more than he already did.

“Fine. But if you need it-” Victor started.

“I can talk to you, yes I know, you have told me many, many times already.” I finished for him, not really wanting to hear the same sentiment again. It had been said so often already, it didn't need to be repeated for the hundredth time.

“Just making sure you know.” Victor shrugged.

Luckily, before we had to endure an awkward silence, or had to talk about anything further, Victor’s phone pinged.

Pulling it out, we discovered it was a text from Lestrade, telling us there was a crime scene, one that sounded quite interesting. So, after phoning Lestrade up and triple checking it was _actually_ him talking, we set off to go and investigate.

The taxi drove us to Islington quickly, with no sign of John or Mycroft. The crime scene involved a strangled man and woman. Both had had their hands cut off.

“The hands were probably axed off.” Anderson informed Lestrade, seconds after we turned up.

“Wrong.” I told him as I inspected the bone, letting Victor look over my shoulder.

“Wrong?” Anderson raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, wrong. There’s marks on the bone, which wouldn’t have happened if the bone had been cut in one movement, which an axe would have done. The killer could have been physically weak, which could have caused the marks, but it’s highly unlikely, considering the markings.” I explained, inspecting the clean lines. Too close together for axe blows, these hands had been sawn off, but not with a serrated edge.

“Looks more like a hunting knife to me, most likely used by people used to catching their own dinner, or at least hunting down things for fun.” Victor agreed.

“Exactly, these markings are caused by a knife being run constantly across the tissue, not by a continually swung axe.” I continued for him.

“How the _hell_ could you _possibly_ know that?” Donovan gave us both a disgusted, and suspicious, look.

“By looking and analysing the evidence, funnily enough.” I answered simply, not in the mood for a fight. I had a bigger one to deal with; I didn't have time to deal with Donovan being difficult.

“Knowing what markings knives make on _bone_ like that? Sounds like you’ve had practice.” Donovan sneered; I _really_ did not have time or the patience for this right now.

“Or maybe I actually know what I’m looking for, like _you two_ should have.” I glared back, hoping they would go away. It never worked before, but something had to go right soon, didn't it?

“Or you practiced on _John,_ he hasn’t exactly been heard from since he disappeared.” Anderson hissed, why did he have to bring up John? Damn it why did he have to bring up John like that?!

“Alright that’s enough, from the both of you! I don't want to hear a single peep out of the two of you unless it’s to do with the case, alright?” Lestrade stepped in, Anderson and Donovan looked slightly taken aback at him.

“But Boss, you can’t say it isn’t-” Donovan tried saying.

“I don't care, Donovan, Sherlock is our consultant, and he has worked incredibly hard to gain the knowledge he has. You will treat him with the respect he deserves, or I will send you _both_ off this case, and stick you on the most basic of robberies for any amount of time I see fit.” Lestrade put his foot down, the two shut up, “Good, now carry on Sherlock.” he smiled at me, I gave him one back, then continued with my deductions, giving him as much as I could see without complaint.

“Told you he was on our side.” Victor grinned as we left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update of the year, thank you all for reading this, this year! I wish you all a happy new year, and happy new Sherlock day!


	77. Chapter 77

76 Sherlock's POV

Crime scenes proved a great distraction from my worry about John, Mycroft and Victor. I was still on guard constantly, always checking for signs that somebody was going to come along and try to take Victor from me, or was going to do _something_ to us, but it was more a background worry, while on a case. I could focus more on the murder, on catching the killer, doing some _good_ in the world, instead of sitting at home like a caged dog, waiting for someone to try and ruin things for me again.

Of course, crime scenes did bring up their own issues, Anderson and Donovan were as lovely as ever, but I was used to it. And, surprisingly, Lestrade started to stop them, sometimes kicking them off the scene if they got too close to the bone, which was generally whenever John was mentioned. They had to be getting suspicious of it, but it was none of their business, in the end. John wasn't here anymore, John wasn't coming back, and nobody had the right to know what was going on between us at the moment. The important people knew, and that was that.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop John from turning up again, and again, and again. He turned up at seemingly random, with no pattern to his actions. He caught us, or at least me, several times, while we were out. Sometimes on our way to a scene, sometimes, on our way back, sometimes, when I was going to Barts for something, and sometimes, when we were simply going out to dinner. Whenever it was, John always popped up, spreading his lies again.

“Honestly Sherlock, you cannot seriously believe that Victor can stay with you. He’s a _spy,_ he has to disappear again soon, MI5 need him.” John was saying, following me as I studiously tried to ignore him for the fifth time that month.

“You need someone who’s going to stay with you, who isn’t going to run off at a moment’s notice because his country needs him more than you do.” John continued on, his words grating on my every nerve.

I didn't need to hear this; didn't he think I _knew_ that Victor should be going back to MI5? That I’d been thinking it to myself for _weeks,_ now? Of course I knew that MI5 needed Victor, they had _always_ needed Victor. He was their top agent; he completed more missions than anybody else, brought down some of the biggest dealers in the world, without breaking a sweat. MI5 needed him back, and I knew it, of course I knew it. But I refused to believe it, because Victor had _promised,_ and Victor kept his damn promises, unlike _some_ people. He didn't want to go, was determined to stay, and I wanted to believe him when he said he’d never go again.

“You need an assistant Sherlock; you’ve said it yourself many times over that you need one. If Victor goes, who are you going to turn to then?” John implored, following me round the corner, determined to keep up, despite the cane.

I was just as determined to ignore him, to not feed the fire. Talking to him fed the fire, made him come back, showed him that he was pushing my buttons. I wasn't going to let him, though; he was _not_ going to push me into arguing with him about this. I wasn't stupid, I was far cleverer than he was, and _far_ more in control of my own body. I didn't need John, or any assistant. If Victor had to leave, I would be _fine_ on my own. I had friends in Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson, they would assistant in any way I could possibly fancy, and would be all the company I could ever want. The only way I’d ever take John back would be if I had suddenly _completely_ lost my mind, and lost all my previous memories while I was at it. And John trying to act like this was the way to get back into my good books was seriously the wrong way to go about it.

“Stop ignoring me Sherlock, you know it’s true. You _need_ an assistant, you _need_ someone there to care for you, and Victor won’t be around forever. Nobody else is going to be running to step up into position after he leaves; I’m your best option.” John insisted, as I got to back to 221 Baker Street.

I raced up the steps, taking great pleasure in slamming the door in his face and heading up the stairs.

“You know I’m right Sherlock, you’ll need me soon, it’s inevitable.” John called through the door, loud enough to be heard on the first floor landing.

“As inevitable as hell freezing over.” I muttered to myself, it _wasn't_ happening, that I was sure of. Victor could go back to MI5, be forced to stay on missions forever, to never be allowed home, but I would _never_ need John again. I would never _want_ John again. He didn't want _me;_ he wanted danger, a cure for his limp. He was sent by my _brother_ who wanted to control me, make sure I was still in line and not causing too much trouble. I wasn't going to fall for it, or go back to it, ever again. Anybody who said otherwise was insane, and clearly didn't know me very well.

“Is he gone?” Mrs Hudson asked, glancing around 221b’s door.

“Give it five minutes and he should be.” John didn't hang around the door that much, probably got it through his thick skull that shouting abuse at a door was going to do nothing. If only he could get it through said thick skull that I _wasn't interested._

“That awful man, I wish he would just go away! Doesn’t he realise that you don't want him around?” Mrs Hudson fretted, wringing her hands.

“No, he’s entirely too stupid for that.” insulting him didn't make me feel much better, but it was better than just accepting his annoying presence.

“Can’t we call Lestrade or someone, have him arrested for harassment?” Mrs Hudson suggested, glancing at the window like John was somehow going to appear there.

“My brother would bail him out easily enough.” it was a wonder he hadn’t stopped him already, unless it was all part of some sort of plan or other. God knew what my brother was doing these days.

“Oh, what are we going to do, then?”

“Ignore him, and hope he goes away.” I answered simply, what else could we do? Apart from shoot him, as Victor was fond of suggesting.

“And what if that doesn’t work?” Mrs Hudson asked, “I don't want to give anything about you away to him by accident, he hasn’t tried speaking to me yet, but what if he does and I let something slip?”

“Then we shall deal with it if it comes to that. But he will get bored eventually, I assure you. John is stubborn, but he knows when to pick his battles.” I gave her an one armed hug, to reassure her. I wouldn’t usually, but she was stressed, and it was her house, and old tenant, too.

“I hope so Sherlock, I don't want him around any longer.” Mrs Hudson whispered.

“Don't we all.” I sighed, wishing John would just _go away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG did anybody see the new episode?! I freaking LOVED it! And I'm so excited for the next two as well!  
> Also, I'm afraid I won't be updating on Friday's anymore, thanks to uni deciding I need to be in at 9am in the morning. I'll be updating now on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday's from now on, sorry about that!


	78. Chapter 78

77 John's POV                                                   

“He has to listen to me at some point, he can’t ignore me forever.” I paced around Mycroft’s office; honestly, Sherlock couldn't ignore me for that much longer. He had to see the reasoning behind what I was saying, and know that I was right. He wasn't that naive as to think that Victor could stay forever, and even if he could, Mycroft wasn't going to allow it.

“Maybe if you were slightly less forceful, and less blunt, he would be willing to talk to you.” Mycroft answered in a bored tone, I didn't take it personally anymore, the man always sounded bored, unless someone had surprised him somehow.

“Sherlock likes cold, hard logic; it’s how he processes things. Appealing to his feelings is useless.” I waved the idea off, things like this had to be handled using logic. Sherlock didn't do emotions, or any kind of emotional appeal, he needed facts, and logic, it worked with his brain. And if I was using a bit of manipulation, and planting ideas in his head that he possibly hadn’t heard of before, well then so what? He needed to be prepared for what was coming, and had to be ready to accept me back as soon as Victor was gone. He couldn't be on his own for long, who knows what he could have gotten himself into?

“That may be, but maybe acting like it isn’t just a business deal would bring a tactical advantage.” Mycroft suggested, looking over paperwork.

“Says the man who only thinks in business deals.” Honestly, that was rich coming from _Mycroft_ of all people.

“I’m fully aware of the irony, I am just pointing out that my brother does not work in such things, he may prefer a more... _gentle_ approach.” Mycroft finally looked up at me.

“I think I’ll stick to my method.” It made sure he knew what was happening, and that there wasn't any other option than me. Because there wasn't another option.

Sherlock couldn't be left by himself; he needed an assistant, and someone to live with him. He wasn't good at looking after himself, and needed someone to make sure he ate and slept, and didn't injure himself on a case. Also, he needed the _company;_ he didn't do well on his own. Sure he had Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, but they didn't understand his needs, they got offended when he shouted out his deductions, they would leave him, unless there was someone there to clear the air. That someone being _me._

Victor was leading Sherlock to a disaster, I wouldn’t. I’d keep him on the straight and narrow, make sure he took care of himself and kept him safe. He still had the adrenaline filled chases after criminals, but he also had someone to make sure he didn't die. And that was the main thing, making sure he didn't die. Did Victor do that? I didn't think so. I did, though, I _always_ made sure he was safe, and well looked after. Victor lost his temper and threatened people, how could that be good for Sherlock, exactly? It couldn't be.

“If you think that is appropriate, then carry on. Just be warned, if Victor comes for you again, then be prepared to face the consequences. He too will not like you threatening his friend.” Mycroft warned, I snorted.

“I can handle Victor,” I was _itching_ to get at him, itching to stake my claim back on Sherlock.

“If you say so.” Mycroft sighed like he couldn't care less.

“I do say so.” I knew I could win, Victor wasn't allowed to kill me, or hurt me in any way. Sherlock wouldn’t allow it. I, on the other hand, had no such order.

“If you think you can kill _Victor Trevor_ of all people, then you are sorely mistaken. And if you somehow managed it, let’s just say that Sherlock will not be the only person you will be answering to.” Mycroft said before I could say anything myself.

“You won’t get rid of me Mycroft, because Sherlock needs me.” he wouldn’t dare, I was too important to this whole plan, to his brother’s wellbeing.

“I will find someone else suitable if you do anything to hinder Victor getting back into the field again. He’s an incredibly important and valuable agent, any harm that comes to him could be catastrophic for the country, and trust me when I say you do not want to become MI5’s most wanted.” Mycroft gave me a look that said that he might actually _enjoy_ watching those events unfold. Arsehole.

“Whatever, just do what you need to do, I’ll do what I need to do.” I was getting impatient, I wanted to get back to Sherlock right this instant, and this was all a hindrance.

And I had just the perfect idea to get to him, or at least get information...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment and the kudos!


	79. Chapter 79

78 Sherlock's POV                                                               

John’s warning tried to get under my skin, but I shoved it back as best as I could. He was not going to get to me, I was not going to let him in, I was not going to let him change my mind. John was in the past, he was irrelevant and stupid and a liar and I _hated him._ He knew nothing of my situation with Victor, and knew _nothing_ about his loyalty to me. Victor wasn't going anywhere, I swore he wasn't going _anywhere_ without me.

And even when, _if_ he had to leave for an MI5 mission, well then I would survive by myself. I’d enlist Molly to be my assistant, she was rather observant for a normal person, and wasn't that annoying once you learnt to tune out her stuttering. And she was a pathologist, working with her at crime scenes would be useful, on-scene autopsy reports, that would speed up investigations significantly. Yes, I’d enlist Molly, wouldn’t need to go looking for someone else. Wouldn’t need _John_ for anything.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock, I swear.” Victor stopped me pacing by placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I know that, Victor I’m not _stupid._ ” I glared at him, I’d _known_ this. It was just John being an arsehole. He was trying to get to me, trying to worm his way back to me, I wasn't paying attention in the slightest.

“But I can see that you’re worried, you’re thinking too much about what John’s been saying.” Victor sighed; he didn't look like he blamed me in the slightest. He was worried too, worried about what exactly John was planning, if he was partnered with Mycroft in this, whatever it was.

“I’m always thinking, Victor, it doesn’t mean I’m thinking about John sprouting nonsense.” I defended myself, “I may be thinking about the case at hand, for all you know.” I gestured to the wall, where several photos had been pinned, all taken from our latest crime scene.

There had been a series of killings, all middle siblings, all in their twenties, all ginger. There was certainly a type, and now it was a question was figuring out _why_ the killer was targeting these people specifically. Self hatred, or a grudge against a sibling? My guess was currently a grudge against the sibling, but that could have been my own bias, given the situation.

“You’ve been pacing for the last hour, but you’re not using your Mind Palace hands, so you’re not mulling over the case.” Victor replied, with a small smile.

“MI5 profiling training tell you that?” I glared.

“Nope, just experience with you. You’re a man of routine, on the quiet, and you have a lot of habits.” Victor smiled wider.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Damn it, most people didn't pick up on my so called _habits,_ they just counted it all as quirk and left it at that. Why did Victor have to _look_ so much?

“If you say so. Now tell me about this case, what do we know?” Victor changed the subject, knowing when to shut the hell up.

“Siblings, all born second out of three, all in their twenties, all ginger. Each drowned in the bathtub. Now the killer could be someone seeking revenge on a middling sibling, or be a middling sibling with a _serious_ issue with themselves.” I explained, staring at the photos. Apart from the patterning of the kills, the killer had been careful, leaving no fibres, fingerprints, or any evidence at all. It was infuriating, and yet not a bigger distraction than what was happening with John. God, what I wouldn’t give for him to _go away_ and leave me alone.

“That to me speaks of revenge on a sibling myself.” Victor commented, I gave him a questioning look, “Well self hatred is generally either focused inwards, or towards others, but not like this. From my experience, those in that situation hurt anybody, not just people who remind them of themselves. They lash out whenever they can, it makes them feel better about themselves, seeing others in pain, or at least knocked down from their pedestal.”

“And those seeking revenge go for specifics; they lash out at those who remind them of the person, or people, that hurt them.” I continued, “Right, so chances are that we’re looking for someone seeking revenge, most probably on a ginger middle sibling of theirs, for some incident in a bathroom... I need the records going back at least ten years pertaining to any case involving three ginger siblings and a bath.” I ran to the nearest laptop, which happened to be Victor’s, immediately hacking into Scotland Yard’s files.

I could have gone down to Scotland Yard, but that would have taken too much time, and this was a serial killer, serial killers were always tricky ones. They had to be caught before they killed more, and sometimes the first clue to their identity was when they eventually slipped up. This one though had slipped up _immediately,_ by going for such a very specific target, it gave me all the information I needed. All I had needed was for Victor to give me that slight bit of insight, to prove I wasn't just thinking about John and Mycroft.

“Ah-ha!” It didn't take long to find the case in question, “Riley family, the youngest child drowned in the bathtub, the middle child had been present and hadn’t saved the youngest. The oldest, James, must be seeking revenge on his brother for harming his youngest, over and over again.” I grinned, immediately phoning Lestrade and racing off to find the killer.


	80. Chapter 80

79 Sherlock's POV                                       

Victor and I chased the murderous sibling across Covent Garden, running across rooftops, under the bridge, around the train station, managing to corner him in an alleyway. We soon had him subdued, and handed off to Lestrade, laughing all the way. It had been so long since we had had a good chase, and an interesting case. And even with this whole problem with John, I actually managed to forget about him once I really got into the case. As we were running, everything else paled in comparison. The wind whipping through my hair, my blood pumping through my veins, nothing felt better, more exhilarating, I couldn't feel more alive if I tried. Alive, and without a care. It all narrowed down to catching the killer, which route he would take, where to go to run him off, how quickly it would take for him to tire out.

“Thanks lads, you did well.” Lestrade thanked us, clapping us both on the back as the killer was escorted into a waiting police car.

“Nothing to it Lestrade, when you know what you’re looking for.” I shrugged it off; it was easy to act like it had all been a walk in the park, like I wouldn’t have solved it quicker if I hadn’t had another massive problem distracting me.

“Yeah well, thanks anyway. We were stumped, we were so close to asking for the profilers to come in.” Lestrade sighed.

“Glad to be of assistance Greg, we needed the distraction. Now, I’m starving, dinner?” Victor turned to me.

“Italian?” I fancied going to Angelo’s.

“Just what I was thinking.” Victor agreed, “Last one to Angelo’s pays?” his eyes sparked with mischief.

“You’re on.” We sped off, running through the same back alleys, both of us trying to outdo the other. We felt like such a _team,_ and like we were really _together,_ even when playing partially against each other for sport, we were still together. For the first time since John’s reappearance, I felt like Victor and I really were on the same page. It felt like he was going to be here, by my side, forever. My brother and ex-flatmate weren’t working against us; we weren’t having to be on guard for signs of interference from someone.

We were together, and happy, the two of us against the rest of the world. Like it should have been, like it always should have been.

Angelo provided us with a good meal each, which I took full advantage of eating. I hadn’t had a thing since the start of the case, and hadn’t had much before either in worry. So I was taking advantage of my good mood, eating heartily, feeling like I was in good company, good and safe company. Company who actually cared for me, and wanted to stick around, despite their previous job, one they hadn’t _officially_ left.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to MI5?” I asked at one point, after finishing a bite of pasta.

“I have absolutely no idea. I mean, I’m having the best time with you, solving cases, hanging out, and all the rest of it. But if there is a case, a really, really _big_ case, that needs my attention, that nobody else can do, I’d consider going back to carry it out. Obviously I’d come straight back to you once it was finished, and continue assisting you, but if there was a case big enough, I’d consider going back temporarily.” Victor shrugged, “It would have to be some pretty damn big circumstances, though.”

“Circumstances like what?” I could understand that, I’d do the same, if I was in Victor’s position, but I wanted to know exactly what would draw him back into the spy fold.

“End of the world level bad guy. The most powerful weapons dealer in the world about to actually do something serious to a country. Someone trying to start world war three, something like that. Normal level dealers can be dealt with by others, for me, though; it’s got to be _huge._ ” Victor explained, eating another slice of garlic bread.

“So someone like Moriarty?” I was suddenly quite glad that we had dealt with him a long time ago, and that we were _certain_ that he was dead. Nobody survived bomb blasts, not when they were that close to the bomb.

“Er yeah, basically something like that, that would bring me back into the fold... Should we be talking about this out in the open like this? Couldn’t your brother be listening in?” Victor glanced around the restaurant.

“It’s fine; I check this place for bugs on a regular basis. Mycroft has never placed a bug in this restaurant, he never does in restaurants, there’s too much noise and too many people to filter out to get to what I’m talking about. Also the cameras don’t work in here, so he can’t hack into the security network.” I answered; I’d checked every restaurant I went to on a regular basis, even the fish and chip shops. I wasn't taking _any_ chances with this.

“Ah, knew there was a reason you liked this place.” Victor smiled.

“Oh please, you know I come here for the half price food.” I made him laugh out loud, “Come on, let’s make a move to get home.” I left the (full price amount) money on the table, setting off home, starting a different conversation with Victor on the way, so Mycroft’s working cameras couldn't overhear anything they shouldn’t.

“I can’t believe how many people give you discounts, or extra food, around here! How the hell have you managed it, I don't even get discounts at hotels I’ve stayed in before for a case!” Victor was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Simple, help them out with a case. I’ve proved either their innocence, who’s been taking money from the till, and a range of other problems for them all over the years, just like I helped Mrs Hudson. I don't ask for the discount, or anything, they just decide that they’re going to give it to me.” I shrugged, neglecting to say that I still always managed to slip them the actual amount their food cost. They’d always already paid me for my services; I didn't see the point of continuing to take from them, even when they offered it.

“And people say you aren’t a people person.” Victor laughed, his arm wrapping around my shoulders.

“He isn’t, he just likes proving he’s clever.” A voice came from an alleyway, a _very_ familiar voice.

“John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with last nights episode, and it's given me so much inspiration for scenes I had planned for this fic!


	81. Chapter 81

80 Sherlock's POV

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Victor glared at the man; other men would have cowered under the look.

“Nothing much, just thought I’d come say hi, discuss the case a bit, just like old times.” John smiled calmly, like any of this was supposed to be _calm_ and _civilised._

“How about this: fuck off, and don't come back.” Victor hissed, putting himself between me and John. Always protective, always keeping me away from danger.

“Not quite feeling like doing that to be honest, especially when the attack dog doesn’t really scare me.” John was so calm in it all; like he used to be when he got _so_ angry he was murderous. But he wasn't angry here, I could read it on his face and in his body language, he really wasn't angry, he was just trying to be antagonising.

“Victor, we’re leaving.” I pulled on my friends arm, really hoping he followed me. _Please follow, please, please follow. Don't take the bait; please do not take the bait._

“No need to waste our time with this waste of space.” Victor luckily followed, tension running through his body, pulling his limbs taught. He wanted to attack, to stop this entire thing in its tracks. But he was holding back, for me he was holding back.

“You really should learn something from this case Sherlock; older brothers will do _anything_ to protect their younger siblings, even when some people class it as too late.” John called out, how did he know about the case? Who told him about the damn case?! It had been merely _three hours_ since we solved it, I doubt Lestrade had even had time to process the guy! How did he know? Did he have a contact inside Scotland Yard? Or was Mycroft getting impossibly better at keeping up to date with me?

“Keep walking.” I warned Victor under my breath. The mystery of how John knew about the case didn't matter right now. What mattered was that I didn't want to hear anymore lies, or have any more parallels drawn between me, Mycroft and the case. Older brothers doing anything to protect their little brothers sounded too familiar, _far_ too familiar.

“He’s going to get control again soon, you know. You can’t stop him; he’s going to protect you from harm, no matter what.” John called again.

“What did you just say?” that was confirmation that Mycroft was planning something, something was _definitely_ coming. He was going to take Victor away, try to send him back to MI5, and force John back into my life again. I could feel it, that was his plan. He couldn't stand Victor being here, he needed John, his _spy_ to be there, to report back to him, to mollycoddle me and treat me like I was a pathetic _child._

“I said, you can’t stop him, Mycroft is going to protect you from harm, no matter what.” John repeated, crossing his arms like he has superiority in the situation. He had _no_ superiority, none at all. He was nothing, nothing but a soldier, a soldier following orders from a clueless general.

“I don't _need_ protecting from harm; I’m doing quite well for myself, despite your repeated attempts otherwise.” I glared at the shorter man too, how _dare_ he suggest that I wasn't capable, how _dare_ he try and make me feel like I couldn't look out for myself. I knew what was best for me, he didn't, and my brother certainly didn't have any _idea_ on what I needed.

“You keep telling yourself that, but sooner or later, you’re going to see just how wrong you are. And Mycroft’s going to have to step in and pick up the pieces, and you’ll be _begging_ for me to come back.” John smirked, there was a plan, there was a _definite_ plan to get rid of Victor. He wouldn’t be saying this if there wasn't. John wasn't a terrible liar, he’d kept the false pretence up for so long, but this wasn't a lie. This was real; John and Mycroft were planning something, something big, something to get rid of Victor.

“Not in a million years.” I wouldn’t ever, not if my life depended on it. Even if they succeeded in getting rid of Victor, I would _never_ let John back in, he would _never_ be allowed back into my life. I’d rather die than let him come back to me, after everything he had done.

“You will, when you’re precious attack dog has disappeared back into MI5.”

Between blinks, Victor wasn't at my side anymore, he’d rushed forward, pinning John against the wall, hand wrapped around his neck.

“Say that again, seriously, I _dare_ you to say it again. Let’s see how _precious_ I am then.” Victor hissed in John’s face, every inch of him radiating anger. I’d never seen him so angry, never seen him look so murderous, I knew in that moment that if he had the chance, he’d kill John in a heartbeat.

“ _Adorable_ Victor, really. But we both know you won’t do anything, Sherlock would be too upset if you did.” John had the audacity to laugh, like he knew for certain that I’d never let Victor harm him, like he was completely safe from Victor’s wrath. How could he possibly think that? How could he possibly think I cared enough? That I cared that he _specifically_ didn't get hurt, as opposed to anyone else in the world?

There was a glint in his eye, too, he was _enjoying_ this, enjoying have this over us. And judging by how often he turned up, he was desperate to warn us, but why warn us? Why let us see what he and Mycroft where planning? What was the _point?_

Wait, he was an adrenaline junky, one desperate for a fix and currently unable to get one. And here he was, antagonising MI5’s finest. He wanted that rush, that danger. This was all deliberate; he wanted to antagonise Victor enough to get him to fight him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! It means the world!


	82. Chapter 82

81 Sherlock's POV

“Victor, he’s trying to antagonise you and get you to fight him.” I tried to pull Victor back; we weren’t going to let John have the satisfaction. No way in _hell_ was I going to give him the satisfaction of giving him his adrenaline fix. He was screwing up our lives enough; I would not give him something else, too.

“He’s succeeding.” Victor hissed, making John laugh again. I hated that laugh, _hated_ that he was enjoying this. John had too much power in this situation; we needed to take it back.

But we also needed to _walk away,_ to get away from this entire thing before something happened. Something that none of us could take back, or fix. I could see this going south, especially with John’s stubbornness and Victor’s protective/violent side.

“Don't shoot the messenger; I’m just trying to make sure you’re packed and ready to go.” John smirked, he wasn't even trying to push Victor’s hands away, he was just _waiting_ for him to snap.

“You know what sends a message? _Shooting the messenger._ ” Victor shoved him against the wall, wiping the smirk away, though Victor’s grew. He was looking more and more like a psychopath by the second.

“And will probably get you fired.” I pointed out, still pulling his shoulder, getting nowhere. He was rock solid, not moving a muscle.  I wouldn’t be able to pull him away now; I’d have to reason with him.

“Good, more time to spend with you. Like I _should_ be.” Victor didn't even take his eyes off John.

“Or a one way ticket to prison.” John replied, still so cocky, it was infuriating. But I wasn't going to get angry, I refused to stoop to his level, or give him any sort of chance to get into a real fight with us. He’d lose, miserably, but I still wouldn’t give him that fight.

“Worth it, to get someone like _you_ out of Sherlock's life.” Victor snarled, hand tightening around John’s throat, finally cutting the smile from his face.

“Someone like me? You mean, the right person to look after Sherlock, keep him out of trouble, and away from social disasters?” John raised an eyebrow, still so bloody casual, even with the hand partially cutting off his airway.

“You’re more deluded than I thought.” Victor started to squeeze even harder.

“Victor, we have to leave, _now._ ” I yanked at Victor’s arm again, this time dislodging him, “It’s pointless. He’s trying to insight a fight, give himself an adrenaline rush. Do not give him the satisfaction of it.”

“Currently not caring about that.” Victor wouldn’t take his eyes off John, following his every move closely. Not that he was doing anything but watching us and rubbing his neck, probably analysing what to say next to provoke Victor.

“Well I _do._ Now let’s go home, and _stay home,_ alright? Let’s leave John _desperate,_ and feeling useless with his leg.” I pulled again; Victor sighed, but looked like he was starting to give in.

“My leg is just fine.” John tried to point out, ruining it by limping as he stood straight. He didn't have his cane, or if he did, he’d hidden it. Good idea, it made him look slightly imposing without it.

“You’ve been limping ever since you left, you’re practically vibrating for a good scrap, the A&E department job is doing nothing but frustrating you, you’ll do anything for a fight, including trying to incite the rage of MI5’s finest, even when you know that he could kill you in thirty-seven ways without leaving a trace.” I kept my own eyes on Victor, making sure he paid attention to what I was saying, could hear exactly _what_ I was saying.

John was suffering more now, without me giving him what he needed. No beating would ever give him this amount of pain or frustration. We were better off _leaving him alone,_ and going back and figuring out just how the hell we were going to fight off Mycroft. Getting rid of Mycroft was more important than giving John a bit of danger. He was just the messenger, Mycroft was the one in charge, and now that we knew that something was going to happen, we needed to figure out how to stop him.

“Fine. We’ll go home. Try to follow us and I’ll break your leg so bad you _will_ really have a limp.” Victor shot back at John, before pointedly wrapping his arm around my waist, the two of us walking away, thankfully with no bloodshed, and without a follower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter update before The Final Problem, and the start of a new hiatus, good luck everyone, and see you all on the other side!


	83. Chapter 83

82 John's POV                                                          

Damn it, that had not gone as I had hoped it would. Why did Sherlock decide that _now_ was a good time to be sensible, and that running headfirst into danger was a bad idea? Bloody idiot. At least he got my message, realised that we were coming for him, and that Victor was _not_ staying for much longer. He could plan all he wanted, he could even try to run, but he wasn't going to make it very far, not with Mycroft on his tail.

My phone beeped, signalling a text: ‘I take it things went well? MH’

‘Perfectly. They’re well and truly warned now.’ I replied.

‘Good. Did the information from Scotland Yard help? MH’

“Very, the case played right into my hands. Turns out you’re not the only older brother who will do anything to protect his sibling.’

I had to admit, too, I was so glad I spoke to Anderson and Donovan about the latest case, and that they trusted me enough to let slip about the brothers. I couldn't believe how well that case worked as a warning, it couldn't have been more perfect timing really. I hadn’t even planned to use their most recent case against Sherlock and Victor, had only intended on getting some dirt on them, or at least some idea of what they were up to, so I could predict where to strike next. That case was the most brilliant stroke of luck.

Picking up my cane from behind a dumpster, I set off home, feeling satisfied with how that had gone. The only thing was, as I limped home, I was reminded on Sherlock’s analysis of my life, and the reasons behind it. He was rubbing it in that I was alone, that I wasn't feeling _useful_ anymore, even in an A&E department. The limp would _not_ go away, not matter how much danger a patient was in. _I_ needed to be the one in danger; _I_ needed that boost, that ‘scrap’ as he put it, to feel good again. Right now, I felt anything but. The only time I didn't feel completely and utterly useless was when I was talking to Sherlock, even when he was putting me down, and forcing his guard dog away.

I needed him, I needed him _so much._ As much as he needed me, in fact. We completed each other, and worked so well together. We had clicked straight away, and had proven time and again to be a great team. So what if we had been put together because Sherlock needed looking after? He should have known that about himself by now, and should have just accepted it.

‘How long now before I can expect to be moving back in?’

‘Not long now, Doctor Watson. Have patience, everything is under control. MH’

‘Well then when should I start packing?’

‘I will give you warning when it is needed. All I can say now is soon. In the mean time, try not to run headfirst into more danger, my brother needs you alive and well. MH’

Maybe I should have been explicit in that from the beginning... no, that would have been a very bad idea. Sherlock hated being seen as weak, and having that pointed out so blatantly would have destroyed our friendship before it had even begun. Really, he should have never have found out about it, should have stayed out of his brothers files for once in his life.

 But no matter, we’d get back together, I was completely certain of it. He _had_ to bring me back into the fold, once Victor was gone.  He needed assistance, needed someone to look after him and keep him out of trouble, and I was the perfect man for the job. He was fooling himself by thinking Victor was better, he blatantly wasn't, the way he was behaving was reason enough to kick him to the curb. Sherlock needed to see that, and he would, once Victor wasn't there to cloud his judgement anymore.

Mycroft would manage it, of that I was sure of. I wasn't exactly sure what he was planning, apart from sending Victor back to MI5, but that was all we needed. It would become obvious just who was better for Sherlock, once Sherlock could see properly. Once Victor was out of the way, and I was back in again, he would see just who was best for him.  The man wasn't stupid, once given enough evidence, he’d believe anything. What was it that he’d said once? ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth?’ something like that anyway. He’d see then that this was better for him. He’d see the light, and know I was the right person for him, not _Victor._ I just had to bide my time.  

It wouldn’t be long now, just needed to get the plans into place. Then Victor would be gone, and I’d be back in Sherlock's life, and it would be like nothing had ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT FOR THE FINAL PROBLEM:  
> Well, my idea of Victor is screwed, isn't it?! On the plus side, I have a tonne of ideas for a new fic after that episode!


	84. Chapter 84

83 Sherlock's POV                                                               

“Those selfish, arrogant... I can’t believe... they’re actually going to try and take me away! They are _actually_ going to try and take me away, because they think I’m not good for you.” Victor started pacing when we got in, filled with pent up rage, “Those cruel, heartless bastards. They can’t possibly do this; they cannot possibly think that this is okay. To forcefully take away someone’s friend like this, to try and replace... it just, it begs belief.”

“It’s how Mycroft works.” I leant against the door, not feeling like I could move a step further.

I shouldn’t have been shocked with the news, shouldn’t have been at all surprised at all, but I still... I had thought, had _hoped_ that my brother would let me make this decision for myself. That he’d let me live my life how I wished it. That he’d actually leave me alone after everything he had done recently.

But he hadn’t. And he wasn't. He was going to storm his way in again, and take over, making sure I was doing what _he_ wanted, not what _I_ wanted.

“It’s not fair! He can’t do this! It’s wrong!” Victor was shouting, Mrs Hudson would be angry if he continued.

“He thinks he’s right.” and John thought he was right, and John was always right. He was _always_ right.

“Well he isn’t right in the slightest! He can’t just butt in like this and take over; he can’t decide who you can live with, who you’re friends with, who you work with! That’s not how this works!” Victor looked so shocked, he shouldn’t have been. It was obvious, had been happening for years, ever since we were children. There wasn't any point in fighting, not really.

“Mycroft always gets his way.” He always did, ever since we were children, “He thinks he knows what I need, and he gives it to me, whether I want it or not.”

“What’s going on up here?” Mrs Hudson bustled in through the kitchen door.

“Mycroft has decided to be an even bigger over controlling asshole than usual.” Victor answered, without breaking pace.

“He’s taking Victor away. And replacing him, with John.” saying it out loud made my stomach twist into a sickening knot.

“He’s what? He can’t do that!” Mrs Hudson’s hands flew to her mouth.

“He can. He’s done similar, he’ll do it again.” I had been through it enough as a child, had watched him work his will, powerless to stop him.

\--

**_“Listen to me right now, Sherlock!”_ **

**_“Sherlock, you will do as I say!”_ **

**_“Sherlock, stop fighting this, it’s for your own good.”_ **

**_“Mummy and Daddy are so disappointed in you, Sherlock. You should listen to us next time.”_ **

**_“Do you want to disappoint our parents? No? Then do as I say, right this instant!”_ **

\--

Always his way, always his damn way. Whatever he wanted. Just like our parents. No consulting me, no discussions, just decisions being made for me, and me being forced to deal with them.

“But he can’t! It’s not... surely it’s not legal!” Mrs Hudson argued, looking between the two of us like we had all the answers. If I had all the answers, I wouldn’t be standing here, I’d be doing whatever I needed to do to stop my brother from taking away the only friend I had ever made without the help of my crime solving abilities.

“Anything is legal when you’re the British Government itself.” I sighed, I didn't... I should have been used to it by now, especially with all the warnings we had gotten. But to have it fully confirmed, not just threatened, it made it feel so _real._ I could have ignored this forever, before it was confirmed.

But now it was real. Victor was on a countdown, at some point, my brother was going to swoop in, and he was going to take my _best friend_ away. All because he thought he was wrong for me, that I shouldn’t have him.

“If anyone wants me, I’ll be in my room.” I couldn't stand around hearing pointless arguments against Mycroft and what he was allowed to do. It was a waste of time, and right now, I didn't feel like trying to make the most of Victor being here. I just wanted silence, and to be alone. After all, it was what I was used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!


	85. Chapter 85

84 Sherlock's POV

**_“You’re such a freak, Sherlock, no wonder you don't have any friends.”_ **

**_“I told you before, trying to make friends isn’t going to work, you’re incapable of it.”_ **

**_“Your attempts at proving me wrong have been pathetic; doing as I say is easier in the long run.”_ **

**_“I won’t back down on this, Sherlock; it’s for your own good.”_ **

**_“I don't care what you think; this is for your own good, so you are doing it.”_ **

**_“Mummy is so disappointed in you, again. Why can you never listen to a word we say?”_ **

**_“I told you before, you’re not human.”_ **

I woke up with a start, briefly escaping the echoes of my brother’s previous ‘Sherlock managing’ attempts. But it all came rushing back too quickly, memories of all the times he had tried to control me, to take over my life, because he thought I couldn't deal with it on my own.

“Hey, you alright?” Victor whispered, I jumped again, realising he was in the bed.

“What are you doing in here?” I hadn’t invited him in, that was for certain.

“Figured you’d want some company, or at least some support.” Victor shrugged, “I’m guessing you just had a bad dream?”

“I don't have ‘bad dreams’ Victor.” I had never had such a thing. If I remembered less than pleasant things while I slept, then that was a different matter entirely.

“Alright then, were you thinking about your brother?” Victor reached out, his hand resting on my elbow, thumb running across the bare skin there.

“Checking for needle marks?” I deflected, not wanting to talk about it. I didn't even want to _think_ about it. This was all just... I couldn’t come up with words for what this was. It was... horrible, to start with. Mycroft hadn’t ever... he’d taken over before, done things like shoving me into rehab, but he’d never done _this_ before. He’d never decided to _take away_ a friend, someone I trusted. I mean, he always warned against me ‘getting involved’ and repeatedly told me about my inability to make friends, but he’d never forced someone to leave.

He’d even been nice to Victor at first, during university. After the background check he inevitably did, he thought Victor trustworthy. Hell, the entire family did, they welcomed Victor with open arms! What had changed now? Was it that Victor didn't follow orders? That he wasn't reporting back to my brother? Why didn't Mycroft like him anymore? Why couldn't he just leave us alone?

“No, I know you’re still clean, I trust you.” Victor sighed, a sadness in his eyes. He knew, or at least suspected, that it was going to be harder for me to stay clean after he’d gone. I wasn't... I wasn't _good_ at coping with loneliness, or my brother’s controlling streak. I needed someone to trust, someone to talk to, bounce ideas off of, to... to just _be here._ I didn't like being alone, I didn't _want_ to be alone again. Even with Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly by my side, I’d still be so alone. They didn't live in this flat, they weren’t around all the time, they didn't... they didn't see as much as Victor did, as much as I thought John did.

The reason why I’d started taking drugs in the first place was to stop the loneliness, to feel _something_ other than miserable all the time. I had been so damn _alone_ back then, so, so alone. I’d always lied and said that alone was what I had, that being alone protected me, but it didn't. It just made me miserable, and feel like a freak. I didn't want to be alone again; I didn't want to go back to that. Not again. I didn't want to go back to the drug dens, to trying to hide the marks from Lestrade, from feeling like I _needed_ the drugs to feel the slightest bit like a human being. I couldn't go back to that pain.

“Please don't leave.” I didn't want Victor to leave, he couldn't go away, I _needed_ him, more than ever. He cared about me; he treated me like I was human, like I was capable. He didn't act like I was a psychopath, or a sociopath, or something evil. He trusted me, hell he was even sharing a _bed_ with me right now. Not even John, who was _hired_ to stay with me, did that.

“I won’t, I won’t leave. I swear Sherlock, I’m not going anywhere, and if your brother forces me, then I will do _everything_ in my power to get back to you.” Victor promised, pulling me close, like holding us together would stop the inevitable.


	86. Chapter 86

85 Mycroft's POV

“He’s fully warned, he knows exactly what’s going to happen.” John crowed happily, practically _skipping_ with happiness. I resisted rolling my eyes at him. Honestly, he could at least act like he felt sorry for Sherlock in some small capacity. We were taking away his supposed best friend and replacing him with someone he currently thought of as a traitor to his very small circle. Of course he’d learn that he was wrong soon enough, but he was going to be upset for a little while.

If I’d have had my way, John wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near Sherlock, and we would have surprised him and Victor. But after John’s first try at threatening, I decided to use it to our advantage. Or at least give Sherlock some warning. He worked best when change was very clearly spelled out for him. Though this time it was giving him time to try and fight this, but I had no fear that he would figure out something foolproof to stop this from happening.

I had eyes and ears _everywhere;_ I would be able to track down Sherlock and Victor very easily. The fact that Sherlock hated basically everywhere that wasn't London would be of great advantage, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from the city for too long. Victor could be on the run for years, but Sherlock, my poor little brother, he needed stability. He needed the same streets, the same people, the same _everything._ He could last in another city for a while, but London would call to him. No other city was quite like London. Sure there was murder and mystery around the world, but London, London _sang_ to Sherlock the way the violin did. It was part of him, he wouldn’t leave for long.

Therefore, either Victor would come with him, and I would catch them both here. Or Victor would stay on the run, and therefore away from Sherlock, and therefore not my problem. As long as he was away from Sherlock, then it would all be fine. It would be inconvenient to find a replacement on Victor’s latest mission, but I would do that just fine, too, once my brother was back into place, with the person he actually needed.

“Yes, yes, well done and all that. And judging by the way you’re rubbing your neck, Victor got quite angry too.” I deduced, it was easy enough to figure out that the scuffle hadn’t even really started. Victor had been pulled away, despite John’s attempts to insight a fight. Interesting. Sherlock was still protecting John; maybe putting him back into position would not be too difficult after all...

“He did, Sherlock pulled him away, though.” John growled, he wasn't happy about _that_ in the slightest. Oh joy, he was going to start getting into loose cannon territory here, maybe I should send him a present, in the form of some agents. Call it a training exercise for the agents, and a tactical move to stop Sherlock and Victor becoming dangerous.

“I would not moan about that too much, John, that is a good sign for Sherlock still caring for you.” I did have slight doubts before that he would ever accept John again, but maybe it wouldn’t be too hard, if he was protecting John now.

“He was saying it was because he didn't want to ‘give me the satisfaction’ of winning.” John sighed, glaring out the window.

“Victor is, if anything, a fan of long term suffering in those he hates. Be it putting rich men in prison cells, or not giving people what they want.” I explained, Victor took a _lot_ of pleasure in those things in fact. He always had.

“Yeah, I got that.” John sighed, “Bastard.”

“He will go soon, John, just hold on for a while longer and it will all be over.” I really hoped he wouldn’t actually cause a fight between himself and Victor. I didn't exactly want to put Sherlock in that position, it would be incredibly distressing for him to watch his friends fight. Also, I didn't doubt for a second that Victor could cripple John if he wanted to. Or kill him for that matter. He would _definitely_ kill him if he wanted to. Then what where would I be? Sherlock would be completely alone, and that wouldn’t do.

“See to it that he is.” John glared; it was quite frankly adorable that he thought he could threaten me.

“It will be, but not because of _your_ benefit. Try to remember that this is about Sherlock and his quality of life, not your emotions.” I warned, before waving him out of my office. I had had enough of John’s pushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there hasn't been an update all week! To say the least, it's been a bit stressful and hectic, and I completely forgot to update!


	87. Chapter 87

86 Sherlock's POV

“Well, on the bright side, at least we have some warning.” Victor tried to be positive over breakfast.

“Mycroft thinks I need warnings before _any_ change, so I don't have a ‘melt down.’” I sighed, stabbing at the bacon on my plate. I didn't feel like eating, but Victor was insisting that I eat at least _something,_ to keep my strength up. More like he didn't want me falling into ‘bad habits’ before he left, so, in his mind, there was a chance of me making it through this.

“He really doesn’t know you that well, does he?” Victor gave me a sympathetic look.

“Only what he’s observed, skewed by his pre-conceived ideas of what people like me can handle.” I _hated_ it, hated it with a passion. As soon as I had started showing _signs_ of Aspergers, he’d looked up everything there was to know about the syndrome, and instead of making Mycroft more understanding, it had made him believe that I couldn't do _anything_ for myself. Like I needed help in every aspect of life, and wasn't able to do anything without a carer in tow. He’d convinced my parents of it, too, effectively setting them up to try various methods of making things ‘easier’ for me, while actually ruining so many chances for me, all while expecting me to be _grateful_ for the intervention.

“Didn’t he ever bother to actually observe _you,_ and what _you_ are like?” Victor asked.

“He’d seen enough by the time I was six.” I could still remember all the cruel words he’d said, how he’d made me feel like I was stupid, that I wasn't a _real_ person.

“And at a guess, never let you forget it?” Victor sighed like he already knew the answer.

“He hired me a friend because he thought me incapable of doing it myself, and is now taking you away because he doesn’t like you, probably because he thinks you’re bad for me, what do _you_ think?” I hissed, what a _stupid_ question, of course Mycroft never let me forget it. He never let me forget what he thought of me, and never let me forget that I was _less_ than him. If I could have thrown him out of my life years ago, I would have. But the bastard would not let go.

“Stupid question, sorry. I just, I just don't understand how he can be so wrong about you. He’s one of the most intelligent men in the world, capable of observing and reading everyone around him perfectly. And yet he gets you, his own brother, so wrong.” Victor stabbed a piece of egg with particular violence.

“Family clouds judgement more than anything.” I explained, I had seen it, over and over again. Whether it was bias towards a family member after some violent crime that they ‘couldn't have possibly done,’ or a bias against a member, thanks to a diagnosis, or rumour, or _anything._ Once that accusation had been made, it would _never_ be lifted again.

“That’s true. So he’s always been like this then? Controlling, believing, wrongly, that you’re incapable of choosing things for yourself?” Victor should have known this by now.

“Essentially yes. Believe it or not, he was worse when we were children.” So much worse, at least now Mycroft wasn't _as_ much as a bully. Well, I say that, I mean the childish taunts had slowed. He still liked to use Mummy against me, though. Always with disappointing Mummy, using it against me like a God damn weapon.

“How the _hell_ could he get any _worse?_ ” Victor’s eyes widened.

“Convinced me I was a robot, a science experiment gone wrong. Not human in the slightest, just metal and wires, incapable of emotions, or real humanity.” It still hurt to think about it, thinking of those years spent feeling like even more of an outcast, having my brother mock me constantly, making me feel like I didn't belong in the family, “There were also jokes about me being adopted. Lots of them.”

\--

**_“How can someone so stupid be a part of this family? Even Mummy and Daddy can talk, and they’re not even intelligent!”_ **

**_“There is no way I’m related to_ you _.”_**

**_“Mummy and Daddy are so disappointed they picked you up, they should have gone for a different model, one that_ actually _works.”_**

\--

Constantly, all the time, helping to convince me that I wasn't even part of the family, that _everyone_ resented my existence. The only reason I actually stopped believing every word Mycroft said was when I broke a bone, thanks to some rather nasty school peers. The fact that I had bones to break, and the _pain_ of it, proved to my eight year old brain that I was actually human. Proving I wasn't adopted after that only took a matter of hours, going back through hospital records and everything else I could find gave me all the information I needed. If that failed, I could just have looked in the mirror; I looked too much like Daddy to not be his at the least.

“And he wonders why you hate his guts, don't trust him, and had a drug addiction,” Victor growled, fists clenching around his fork, “I’ll kill him the next time I see him, I swear.”

“Don’t bother; I got over it years ago. And even if you managed it, you’d spend the rest of your life in a very small jail cell, before getting executed yourself.” I waved him off; it was a stupid idea, absolutely ridiculous in fact. My brother was an asshole, especially as a child, there wasn't much to be done apart from get used to it.

“Worth it in my books. _No-one_ should have made you feel that way,” Victor managed to relax his muscles, reaching out for my hand; “It was cruel, and heartless. I won’t let him do it again.”

If only Victor could _stop_ Mycroft’s manipulations, what a world that would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I missed the last two update days again, for some reason, life has gone insane the last couple of weeks! It should all calm down soon, once my dissertation drafts are looked through and I can stop worrying about my assignments so much!


	88. Chapter 88

87 Sherlock's POV

I didn't feel like doing much after talking to Victor, remembering my childhood was never fun, and with everything hanging over our heads, I didn't really want to do anything. In some ways, I wanted to fight, to kick up a fuss, scream, hit out, force my brother to listen to what I was saying, but I knew it would be useless. Mycroft always got his way, without fail. He knew how to get the best of me. And more importantly, he had the resources to get the best of Victor.

“What’s got you boys in such a state? Has John said something again?” Mrs Hudson asked, after she had come in with a new batch of baked biscuits.

“Mycroft has decided that Victor isn’t good for me and is concocting a plan to get Victor back into the MI5 mission field, never to come back to London again.” I explained from the sofa, face partially buried in a cushion.

“He’s what? He can’t do that, surely not!” Mrs Hudson sounded _scandalised._ Well, I guess this was the first time she had heard of my brother’s power firsthand, let alone his protective streak. She knew he was protective, and a bit controlling, but she had no idea of the lengths my brother went to.

“He can, and he will. He’s Mycroft, and brothers _always_ know best.” I answered miserably, I wished I could fight it, wished there was _something_ I could do. I’d faced down drug dealers; serial killers, psychotic men and women, and I’d faced down _Moriarty_ and won against them all. But Mycroft, Mycroft was more powerful than them all. He had the brains, the recourses, and the power to make sure we all fell in line. Or at least, didn't cause too much of a fuss against his plans.

“We basically just have to go with it, not even we can change the megalomaniac’s mind.” Victor sighed, “Now we’re just going to have to deal with it. I’m as good as gone at this point.”

“Oh that’s awful! Isn’t there anything you can do at all?” Mrs Hudson started wringing her hands.

“No.” I answered simply.        

“Make the most of our time together now? And try our best to keep John out?” Victor suggested, pulling me up, sitting down, and letting me drop back into his lap.

“He won’t try and get himself back here, will he?” Mrs Hudson gasped.

“Oh he will be. Bastard has been warning it for weeks, he’s determined to get back in here again and cure his limp.” Victor growled, hand tightening around my arm.

“Well I won’t be letting him in, John is not stepping foot back into 221b, I don't care what he says or does.” Mrs Hudson’s determination was nice, I had no doubt that she would beat John silly if he got within these four walls again.

“I don't doubt that for a second.” Victor smiled gently, but fondly, at her.

“Does everyone else know? So they can keep John away, or at least know what’s happening?” Mrs Hudson asked... we hadn’t told anybody.

“Not yet. I’ll phone them later.” Victor ran a hand through my hair, “Right now, we just want to spend some time together. It’s unlikely we’ll ever speak to each other again after I get dragged back, it’s hard enough to contact others during and between missions, let alone when you have His Majesty getting in the way.” It was all said with such defeat, even _Victor_ knew that there was nothing we could do. He was as resigned as I was, even if he was a bit more active.

“Oh boys.” Mrs Hudson, reaching out to touch us both.

“We’ll be fine; it’ll be like old times. And hey, maybe we will find a way to contact each other again. Mycroft will get lax in the end; we’ll find a way through that, even if it takes years.” Victor flashed another smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

“But you won’t ever be able to come back?” Mrs Hudson had tears in her eyes; she’d really grown to love Victor over the last few months. It was impossible not to love him really; he was a great man, and a good one. Always there, always ready to talk and help out wherever he could.

“I’m afraid not. At least, not unless Mycroft changes his mind about me being a bad influence on Sherlock.” Victor sighed, still stroking my hair.

“And Mycroft changes his mind about once a decade.” I actually couldn't even remember the last time he _had_ changed his mind about something, especially when it was something about me.

“Oh boys.” Mrs Hudson whispered again, looking at us both with such sympathy, such sorrow, like her heart was breaking for us. And she didn't even realise the ramifications of all of this. Of what was going to happen after Victor went, of the fight to keep John away, to keep me from falling off the deep end, anything else I had to fight off. She knew the basics, and I don't think any of us truly knew exactly what was to come, not entirely, and it worried me more than anything else.


	89. Chapter 89

88 Sherlock's POV

Victor handled phoning Lestrade and Molly, telling them about the situation, and warning them against _ever_ letting John anywhere near them. Obviously they already knew that John wasn't supposed to be anywhere near any of us, but it was still worth the warning. Especially when he would be coming knocking the minute Victor was gone. He wouldn’t be wasting any time, was probably planning to take advantage of my worried state to sneak back into the house. Like _that_ would work. I would be upset, but I wouldn’t be stupid enough to just let him back in again.

“Well your friends are all committed to keeping John away in any way they possibly can, that’s a good sign.” Victor sighed, after finishing his call with Lestrade. I didn't answer; I didn't even feel like _talking_ right now. What was the point? I soon wouldn’t have anybody to talk to anyway. Not unless there was a crime scene, or something at the morgue. Sure Mrs Hudson would come up, but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would be the same after Victor left.

I’d go back to how I was before I gained any sort of flatmate. Not talking for days on end, torturing the violin at all hours of the day, doing endless experiments to distract me from the boredom, to keep the urge to shoot up away. Praying constantly for a case, just so I had _something_ to do, and someone to talk to. Someone, anyone at all. Even if it was just calls of the word ‘freak’ and whatever else Anderson and Donovan wanted to shout at me this time. I’d end up welcoming it again, _welcoming the abuse,_ just so I had someone to _talk_ to.

“Sherlock, come on, don't hide inside your head, not at a time like this. We need to keep our wits about us.” Victor shook me gently, he always so _gentle,_ never angry at me or my actions. I’d miss that, I’d miss how understanding he was with me, his ease around me, and his gentle touches.

“Would you prefer I had a meltdown?” I would have, too, if I wasn't used to this by now. If this was a new thing, I would have had a _complete_ meltdown by now, but I was just so used to it there was no point. It wasn't surprising, or out of the ordinary, and nothing I couldn't process.

“No, I’d prefer to see some sort of life in you.” Victor wasn't harsh with his words, still being gentle. But it didn't feel like mollycoddling, or like he was being cautious, more like he was simply being empathetic.

“What would the point in that be? It’s just wasting energy.” It was all just an energy waste. I _knew_ what was coming, knew of the emptiness, the loneliness, all the things that worried my brother into hiring friends to keep me alive.

“It’s not, you have to carry on without me, you can’t just wallow away like this!” Victor insisted, he had no idea. He didn't know what it was like when he wasn't here, I hadn’t ever told him, not the full extent of it. He’d never known what it was like to be _totally_ alone, without a purpose, without a way to connect to the outside world. Knowing that if you had to go outside, it would be to face abuse from people you were just trying to help. There weren’t chances for _kindness,_ or for real connection, at least not with anybody who understood, not fully. Not like it was with him, never like it was with him.

“Why can’t I? It’s the ultimate ‘up yours’ to my brother, he takes away the one thing that actually makes me feel like an actual human being, and I become the most hatred recluse in all of London. Possibly fall off the bandwagon big style, go a bit _too_ far with the drugs, and he loses me forever. Game over for me, yet I still win.” It would prove that I was right, that I had made the right choice in companion, that taking over and removing the one good thing in my life ended me. The _precious_ little brother.

Either that or he’d be incredibly glad that he could get actual work done. At least he’ll be the one who disappointed Mummy and Daddy this time, instead of me.

“Sherlock no. That is _not_ happening, you hear me? You are _not_ going to fall off the bandwagon, and you are _not_ going to become a recluse, you got that? You have friends who care about you, and will still be here after I’m gone. You are not going to be alone, I swear it.” Victor pulled me to sit up, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“You’re wrong, Victor, they never came before, they won’t now.” they all had their own lives, their own things to do. They’d contact me when they needed me, nothing more.

“Has nothing I’ve shown you gone in? They _care_ about you Sherlock! They care, and they’re not going to abandon you!” Victor argued, with such a determined look on his face, it was almost funny to see how sure of himself he was.

“Nobody wants to be around the depressed, genius drug addict, Victor. They weren’t there before, they won’t be there now. Not unless they need me.” I had been through enough lonely years to know the lay of the land in this type of situation. Lestrade and Molly didn't call or anything unless they needed me, and Mrs Hudson only really came up to check on the state of the flat, and to make sure I hadn’t done anything too gruesome on her kitchen table.

They may have cared about me, that I could see, but they didn't know how to treat me, or how to be around me, not without Victor to be a buffer. Not without some sort of permanent buffer between me and them. Without that, why would they bother? They never had before. A few get togethers wasn't going to change that, no matter what Victor said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been a while, I've been contending with several birthdays and celebratory days out, and uni, and looking after my ill nan, I've barely had time to breathe! Should be going back to normal soon though - I hope!


	90. Chapter 90

89 Lestrade’s POV

How could Mycroft be so cruel as to take Victor away from Sherlock like this? It wasn't... it was plain cruel, he shouldn’t have been allowed to do that. He may have been the most powerful man in the country, possibly the world, with the largest God complex I had ever come across, but that didn't mean he was allowed to do what he wanted with Sherlock’s life. Sherlock was doing just fine with Victor, was creating proper bonds with us, and was finally opening himself up a bit, what the hell was wrong with that? I knew that Holmes’ generally didn't do things like that, as they were too dignified, but damn it, couldn't he let Sherlock be happy?! He deserved it, after everything, he deserved it so much.

One thing was for certain, though, I would _not_ let John worm his way back in. I didn't care what he said, or what Mycroft tried to enforce, that _was not_ happening, under any circumstances. John could go hang for all I cared; I would not let him back in Sherlock’s orbit, not so he could get his manipulative hands on him again.

“Alright Boss? Case got you stumped?” Donovan came in, placing a file on my desk.

“Something like that.” I wasn't going to tell her, the less she and Anderson knew, the better. No doubt they’d use the information against Sherlock and mock him further. I didn't know how many more calls of ‘freak’ he could take, especially when he was on his own, with no scary MI5 friend by his side. Not that Victor was scary once you got to know him, he was lovely, then, but if you were an enemy of Sherlock’s, well, let’s just say that the cold shoulder was more than just frosty.

“Need to bounce ideas around? Could be useful.” Donovan asked, dropping into a chair.

“It’s fine, go and carry on with paperwork, I can figure it out by myself.” Or at least, not with her, not unless she suddenly gained a conscious, or decided that Sherlock was actually a good man. I was certain that he was, he was just... he was just guarded, very, very guarded. And for good reason, especially with a brother like his.

Luckily, before Donovan could ask again, my phone rang. My mobile to be specific, and it was Victor calling again. Dread made my stomach twist inside itself, scared of what this was about. Victor rarely called, twice in once day was unheard of.

“Hey, sorry to call again, I know you’re working. But I thought that maybe we should have one last get together, as a send off type thing.” Victor sounded stressed; my stomach twisted further, despite the subject matter.

“Er, yeah, sounds good,” it would be nice to say goodbye to Victor, “But, is everything alright? You don't sound too good.”

“I’m about as fine as I can be.” Victor sighed, “I just... Sherlock’s not taking it so well.”

“I can imagine, how is he?” I had thought that he’d take it badly, but how badly would be another matter. I was actually considering going down to storage to find some cold case files, on the off chance it would be a distraction for him, if things were bad.

“Lying on the sofa most of the day, not really speaking much, convinced that he’s going to be back to how things were before - an empty flat with no chance of visitors, unless they want something from him. I’ve just managed to get him to have a shower, but I don't think he’s going to cheer up anytime soon.” Victor explained, poor sod, and poor Sherlock. I couldn't imagine how it felt to be in this situation, at least when I got divorced, I had seen it coming, and had practically hated the wife by the end of it. Sherlock was so fond of Victor, he worked so well with him, and I had seen him light up with his friend around. I had seen him look happy, _genuinely_ happy, with Victor; to have the knowledge that it was going to be taken away soon must have been heartbreaking.

“God, you sure having more people round is going to do any good?” I didn't want to make Sherlock worse, and while he was getting better about having us around socially, maybe now wasn't the time.

“I don't know, if I’m honest. I just... I want him to know that there’s people out there for him other than just me. That you’re all still going to be by his side, and that you’re all still going to be his friends, so he’s not going to be alone and cut off from the world, like before. I want him to know that, even if it doesn’t cheer him up, at least he’ll know he’ll have others to lean on during danger nights.” Victor sounded _so_ worried, and I couldn't blame him. The threat of relapse always hung over our heads with Sherlock, and if he was forced back into that lonely existence, I had no doubt in my mind that he would be back on the cocaine within the month.

“I’ll be there, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.” I wouldn’t let Sherlock be alone again; I would not allow him to go back to drugs, or to be that lonely again. He could _not_ go back to that life, and I’d do everything in my power to make sure he was as happy as he could be, under the circumstances.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! Just to let you know, I'm nearing the end of writing this fic, I've got about 20 chapters to go, then I'm starting work on a new one! :D


	91. Chapter 91

90 Sherlock's POV

Victor invited everyone back round to the flat for ‘one last get together’ before Mycroft swept in to take him away, not that we knew _when_ that was happening anyway. It could have been tomorrow, or a month from now, whenever it was most convenient for him to sweep my best friend under the rug where I couldn't get to him again. Either way, it would be soon, Mycroft didn't hang around much with these types of things, especially when he thought he was doing me some good.

That’s how everyone ended up inside 221b for one last time, literally three days after we had had our confrontation with John. I’d spent those days wasting away on the sofa, not feeling up for anything. Not even a case rated a ten could have roused me. I tried to get up and move on, honestly I did, but I just... I just couldn't. Not when any of it could have been trap to take Victor, not when it could have been our last case together, and especially not when it meant we could run into John again. I wanted to be left alone to forget it all, but nobody seemed to be allowing that, hence the damn get together.

I spent half of it sawing away on the violin, hoping they’d go home, or at least stop talking to me, but they all kept on coming up to me. Lestrade promising cases all the time, Molly insisting she would always be available to assist me on cases, or in the lab, if I needed it, Mrs Hudson fussing and saying she would be up every single day for a chat. It didn't make it any better, didn't do anything but put my teeth on edge, making me want to _scream_ at these people, acting like everything was going to be okay. Nothing was going to be okay! Nothing was going to be okay ever again!

No matter what they did, how hard they tried; Victor was still going to be gone. John was still going to be trying to worm his way back into the flat. Mycroft would still be controlling my life. I would still be living alone, dealing with the bare minimum of social interaction, back inside that glass cage, the one I had only just started to escape from. I didn't _want_ this, I didn't want platitudes, or promises of visitors, I wanted _Victor._ I wanted Victor to stay, to be my assistant, my flat mate, my _friend._ I didn't want him to be ripped away from me, and then never mentioned again, like he hadn’t even happened! I didn't want to go back to that lonely existence again!

“SHUT UP! EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP!” I couldn't take it anymore! Not all this placating nonsense, not all the empty promises, not all these _people_ acting like everything was okay, despite everything most definitely not being okay!

“Sherlock, it’s okay, do you need to step outside for a minute?” Victor placed his hands _very_ gently on my arms.

I realised I was breathing incredibly heavily, fist tightening so hard around my violin that the strings were cutting into my fingers. Everyone was staring at me, all with scared expressions.

“Yes, yes, I... I need some air.” I pulled away, heading towards my bedroom, climbing out the window to sit on the fire escape, lighting up a cigarette as I went.

The first rush of nicotine felt like a damn miracle, like it was the first time I had breathed since this began. Outside was definitely better than the inside, despite the cold and the drizzling rain. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful that everyone was going to still rally around me after this, it was just that... I just couldn't deal with it. Victor was going, being forcibly taken from me, and I was going to be alone again. No amount of good intention, or how many _visits_ I got, it wasn't going to be the same. Victor, Victor _understood,_ we had a connection, we knew each other inside out. Everyone else, I was used to keeping at arm’s length, was barely learning how to let them in a bit, now, thanks to years to warding off everyone in fear of being ridiculed. Even if I learnt to let them in, to let them see the things I had kept hidden, it wasn't going to be the same as it was with Victor, or John, for that matter.

I couldn't do this, I needed _someone_ to talk to, someone who knew me inside out, could anticipate my needs, and didn't mind when I was in a _difficult_ mood. I needed someone who understood the meltdowns, the quirks, the lack of social skills without getting offended. I needed more than someone to make sure I ate, and tell me all the gossip on the street, someone who to give me cases to work on, someone to assist in the lab and give me body parts. I needed a friend, who could work by my side, could provide back up, could _be there._ I needed Victor. I needed the others too, but I needed Victor the most, more than anyone else in the world. And no amount of platitudes was going to replace him, or make this okay in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! I love hearing what you guys think about what's going on!


	92. Chapter 92

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kind comments, it means a lot. Sadly, there is no chance of 'getting better' in this situation, so we just have to deal with it as best we can. But I just want to warn you first, if I suddenly disappear for more than a week, please do not think I won't finish this fic, I swear to finish this fic and not leave anyone hanging. I always finish fics, and even if the worst happens, I'll still finish it, even if it takes a bit longer than usual to do so.

91 Lestrade's POV                                      

“Sorry, I didn't... he’s not taking this well.” Victor made to follow Sherlock after his bedroom door slammed shut.

“No, I’ll get him.” I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I really think I should go.” Victor tried to pull away, glancing between me and the door with such a worried look on his face, it was almost heartbreaking.

“Yeah, not to be blunt, but you’re going to be gone soon, maybe at least one of us should start stepping up, so we’re ready for the future.” I would have to do it eventually, and it would probably be me. Molly wasn't good with words, no matter how insightful she was, and Mrs Hudson, while motherly and meaning well, was good at listening, not offering comfort. And, well, I kinda felt like I was a father figure to Sherlock, at least, I felt like I had practically adopted him years ago.

“Alright, just... be gentle with him. He’s, he’s really not taking this well.” Victor bit at his lip.

“I’ll do fine with him.” I flashed a smile, before setting off to the bedroom, readying myself for whatever was through the door. Hopefully it wasn't Sherlock looking for drugs, or trying to contact a dealer.

As I opened the door, I heard Victor start to try and distract Mrs Hudson and Molly, but it got quieter as I reached the window, finding Sherlock sitting on the fire escape, legs drawn up to his chest, smoking a cigarette, apparently oblivious to the rain.

“Whatever platitudes you have for me, Lestrade, I don't want to hear them.” Sherlock’s voice had only the slightest bit of bite to it, like he was trying to hide his true feelings.

“Good job I wasn't coming out here for platitudes.” I sat next to him, “Got another cigarette I can nick?” this would probably go better with some sort of nicotine in the system.

“You were supposed to have quit.” Sherlock handed me his pack and a lighter.

“So were you.” I lit up, taking a deep drag. God, that was better than the patches.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Sherlock shrugged, looking out over London.

From my angle, he looked so much younger, more vulnerable, and so beaten down by the world. Sometimes, when I thought about it, it seemed to me that Sherlock had been beaten down so much by various people in his life, and he’d barely had anybody around to pick him back again. Apart from when John was around, and now with Victor, he’d always been so closed off, so _alone._ No wonder he was so badly affected by this, to him, no matter what we did, this _was not_ going to be okay. In Sherlock’s mind, he was going to be alone, back to square one, left to battle his demons completely by himself. Poor sod.

“I’m not going to try and make it seem like I understand your situation, because I don't. I’ve always been lucky with my relationships with people,” I ignored Sherlock’s mumble of ‘except your wife,’ “So I can’t imagine what this feels like. But I do want to say one thing, those of us who are staying here, as in, me, Mrs Hudson and Molly, are still going to be here. We’re not going anywhere, and we’re not going to leave you to wallow in misery by yourself. We’ll still be here for you, for whatever you need. Cases, lab time, body pieces, _anything_ you need. Even if that’s just a takeaway and movie night, or, I don't know, whatever you want. We’re going to be here, whenever you need us. We may not be as good as Victor, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to be stuck by yourself from now on.”

It was tough to get out, to put into words really. I wasn't _good_ at talking about emotions, or reassuring people. I left all the reassuring of victims’ families to Donovan, usually, she was good at it. Me, though, I really wasn't, didn't have a _clue_ what to say, especially to someone like Sherlock. Maybe I should have just let Victor come out.

“And I know it won’t be the same without Victor. He’s your best friend, and losing him is going to hurt, but we can try our best to make things easier, and... Maybe not _forget_ him, but at least help you carry on without him.” I finished with another drag of my cigarette, having no idea if I had just said that right or not.

“I learnt to carry on without Victor before, I can do it again.” Sherlock answered in a mumble, flicking ash off the end of his own cigarette.

“I know, but I’m saying you don't have to do it _alone,_ you don't have to do anything alone again. I know it feels like you will be, due to past experience, but we are going to be there, in whatever capacity you need us in.” I hesitated, but then reached out, placing a hand on a skinny bent knee.

“You said no platitudes.” Sherlock grumbled, still refusing to look anywhere but over London. I didn't force him to look at me, knowing he didn't like eye contact much, especially during emotional moments.

“Sorry, just slipped out.” I tried to shrug it off, “So... is there anything I can say, to make it better?”

“No.” Sherlock answered. His attitude, and his short answers, reminded me so much of his younger self. We used to not exactly have _heart to heart conversations,_ but just... little moments; I guess you could call them. Little moments, where he let his guard down ever so slightly. He’d let me see through the mask, just the tiniest bit, and I’d see the lonely boy behind it. The lonely, desperate boy, who was so _young,_ and yet so... so _damaged_ by his past. I’d never known what had caused the damage, but even from those glimpses, I could see that there was so much of it.

Sherlock reminded me of that boy right now, that damage, now clearly caused by his brother, coming back to the surface, the isolation starting to set in again, despite the fact that he hadn’t been ripped from his friend yet. I swore I’d never let him get that far again, never let him fall that far down that well of despair again.

“Thought I couldn't. But, I just wanted to say, that while it seems like nothing is ever going to be okay again, that we will do _everything_ in our power to keep you from too much pain, so you don't feel lonely ever again.” I promised, squeezing his knee.

“If you say so.” Sherlock sighed, knee twitching under my hand.

“I do, and I’ll continue to do so until you believe me.” I smiled, “Now, how about we go back inside, it’s getting cold out here.” I waited for him to react before I moved.

“I think I’ll stay out here.” Sherlock finally looked at me briefly, before looking away again, “Wouldn’t mind the company, though.”

“Of course.” I settled down, ready to spend however much time I needed to with Sherlock, until he felt like he could go back inside again.


	93. Chapter 93

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I posted the wrong chapter last time, I've now edited it so Lestrade going outside to see Sherlock is now up in chapter 92, so go back to read that before this one. Sorry again, I'm a complete prat!

92 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade’s presence was... appreciated. I would have preferred Victor, but knew it wouldn’t be possible soon. Soon, it would be Lestrade at least trying to deal with me, just like he used to. His version was usually letting us sit in silence, watching over London, or working through case loads. It was useful in some ways, though sometimes talking was better, I wasn't sure if today was one of those days or not.

Eventually, we headed back inside when it got too cold, everyone staying for another hour, the atmosphere still feeling like a wake after a funeral, fraught with tension thanks to my outburst, nobody trying to say anything else to me about what was going to happen.  they all gave up trying to pretend to be in the mood for socialisation and left, leaving Victor and I alone again. possibly for the last time. God it hurt to think of that.

“Sorry, for putting you through that, I didn't think it through. I didn't think everyone would be so overbearing.” Victor pulled me to lean on his shoulder, not enclosing me with his arms, just bringing us close, almost like it was for warmth.

“It’s fine. Should have expected it really, it was inevitable that everyone would fuss.” I sighed, trying not to lean into him, but being unable to resist. Victor represented so much safety, so much love, I never wanted to step away from that. I’d grown so used to it, that getting used to not being around him again was going to be a shock.

“Still, though, you don't want to hear platitudes right now, you want solutions, or at least a clear idea of what’s going to happen after I go.” Victor rubbed my arm.

“The answer to that is pretty obvious, Victor.” I’d been through many years of being alone, I think I knew the drill by now.

“I didn't mean your pessimistic idea, I meant what is _actually_ going to happen.” Victor smiled fondly, “But at least you got to hear your friends promises of staying by your side, that has to be a slight comfort. And Lestrade proved to be pretty good with you when you’re upset, so you’ll have him the next time your brother is a dick.”

“A bit.” I admitted, it was nice to hear, I guess. At least I wouldn’t be _entirely_ alone, and there would be attempts from my friends to keep me from being too lonely. And, Lestrade hadn’t been _that_ bad today, he had actually been quite useful in a way. Not forcing me to talk after he got out his little speech, letting us sit together in silence, letting the company speak for itself.

“You’ll do fine, I’m sure, you’ve got a good band of friends there, friends who care about your wellbeing. So you won’t be completely alone, or left without anybody to talk to when you need it.” Victor summarised, almost like he was reassuring himself, too.

“Guess I have.” I sighed, still not exactly _happy_ about this. reassurances from friends or not, there was still the fact that Victor was going, and I wasn't going to see him again. or at least I wouldn’t for a few years, until Mycroft’s watchful eye stopped spying on Victor, then maybe we would be able to contact each other. Through burner phones, or encrypted messages, or _something._ We probably would never be able to meet again, but we may be able to actually talk to each other. That wouldn’t have been too bad, that we never really got time to do that before, before he got back to me... oh who knew anymore?

“I’m going to miss you, a whole lot. More than I’ve missed anyone else.” I really would, Victor was such a good man, had stayed for so much longer than anybody else, and went above the call of duty for me. he didn't treat me like some sort of freak. I think I’d miss that most, our easy camaraderie. I was fine with the others, yet there was still that bit of awkwardness there. A wall keeping us from _real_ connection, a wall I couldn't break, thanks to my constant second guessing of my actions, my fear of screwing up. any sort of meet up wouldn’t be the same.

“More than anyone else? I’ll take that as a compliment.” Victor smiled, thankfully not mentioning Redbeard, the last true relationship I’d had ripped apart thanks to my brother, “But I’m going to miss you, too. more than I have anyone else. You’re the best, best friend I’ve ever had.” His eyes teared up a bit, but he shook his head, calming himself.

“Now, how about if we go to bed? It’s getting late, and it’s been a long few days.” Victor changed the subject, “You fancy the bed or the sofa tonight?”

“Can, can you stay with me? I, I don't want to be alone.” It was a stupid request, one I made too far often at the moment.  But I couldn't stop myself, I just didn't want to be alone, not yet. I wanted to cling on to this while I could. Victor and I had never shared a bed so often, had never been that kind of friendship. He was supposed to be sleeping on the sofa, but I just couldn't take him being that far away. It was stupid, and horribly sentimental, but I _couldn't._

“Of course, I was hoping you were going to say that.” Victor smiled sadly, like he was having the same thoughts as I was.


	94. Chapter 94

93 Sherlock's POV                                         

I hate to say it, but paranoia started to set in quickly after the party, everything starting to feel more and more real by the second. The countdown clock rang loudly in my head, constantly there, despite not knowing when Mycroft would strike. It could be at any time, and yet it felt like it was going to be soon, too soon in fact. Thirty years in the future would seem too soon. Whenever it was going to be, it was going to be sudden, and well thought out. My brother didn't do anything without some sort of incredibly intricate plan, that would be followed out to the letter by his minions.

Would he knock us both out? Rush into the flat and grab Victor, hauling him out while others held me back? Would he try to trick us into MI5? No, he wouldn’t be _that_ stupid. But he could get Victor from the flat, or from the street, or anywhere. During the day, at night, while we slept. I dreaded that idea the most, I think. Waking up one morning to find Victor gone, having had no idea he’d left in the first place.

“Sherlock, you can’t stay up for another night.” Victor sighed, after I had stayed awake for four days, keeping watch. I wanted to be awake, wanted to be able to fight, to at least see Victor go, no matter how painful it would be. I wanted to see him go, wanted to know that he wasn't hurt in the process.

“I’ve told you before, Victor, I’m not going to fall asleep and act like it’s perfectly normal night.” I wasn't going to do it, no way.

“I know that, but at least try, so you don't collapse.” Victor did at least look sorry for me in that.

“I’m used to being awake for days at a time, this isn’t anything different.” It wasn't any different from a case. The case was making sure I knew _exactly_ when Victor was taken from me, memorising every part of him, for when I needed him again. I wasn't making the same mistake I had made with Redbeard. I had taken him from for granted, hadn’t studied him properly, my Mind Palace version of him was incomplete because of it. I had had to recreate him using family videos, photos and memories, and I could never be sure if he was completely accurate or not. I would not make the same mistake with Victor. I refused to. I needed him intact, for when the world was too much and I needed _someone_ who understood, even if he was just in my mind.

“This is, you’re staying awake, driving yourself mad with worry over something we can’t change. And I know it’s hard to relax, but you have to eventually. We don't know when I’m going, it could be weeks yet.” Victor tugged on my hand, “Come on, at least lie down next to me.”

“I’ll sleep when you’re gone.” There wouldn’t be anything else to do then anyway, at least, there would be a _lot_ of time where I didn't want to do anything but escape.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, lie down with me right now, and at least _try_ to relax, before you actually snap. I’m not kidding, you look ready to collapse.” Victor used a voice that was halfway between an order and worried begging.

“Fine. But I’m not sleeping.” I wasn't going to do it, wasn't going to miss him going. I couldn't let him go without at least watching him leave. Especially if my brother was going to be there for the fireworks, he was going to _see_ exactly what he was doing to me. He was going to see exactly what he had done to me, and how much I _hated_ him for sticking his massive nose in and taking something so important from me.

“If you say so. Just lie down.” Victor pulled me under the covers, resting his head on my chest, like an anchor keeping me from leaving, “At least now you’ll notice if I’m gone. Though I doubt you wouldn’t notice anyway. You’re still alert when you’re asleep.”

It was true that I could detect the mattress moving even the slightest bit, and hear even the faintest footsteps in sleep; it paid to be vigilant when there was a huge list of people who wanted to kill you, and an overprotective brother prone to kidnappings. But I just... I just didn't want to run the risk of missing Victor go. I didn't want to wake up one morning to find the bed and flat empty, no sign of Victor. I didn't want to be so suddenly thrown back into loneliness. And I certainly didn't want to wake up one morning to find Victor gone, and _John_ back in the flat again.

Victor wriggled a bit, pulling my arms around his torso, his arms going around my waist. It was slightly too intimate for my tastes, but I dealt with it, if I fell asleep, and the weight on me moved, or the hold loosened, I’d be awake in a second. We’d know in milliseconds, and be awake and ready to cause as much of a fight as we could. It wouldn’t stop Victor from being taken, but it could stop John entering this flat again, and cause Mycroft’s minions a bit of a problem, which would be _slightly_ satisfying.

But as I settled down a bit more, relaxed slightly by Victor’s current presence, I should have known that Mycroft wouldn’t come in our sleep. I should have known that he wouldn’t dare to risk waking the neighbours, or Mrs Hudson. He’d do it another way, one that didn't ruin the sanctity of my home, something he always said was so important to have. I should have known. I should have _known._


	95. Chapter 95

94 Sherlock's POV                                                               

Waking up, I cursed myself for having falling asleep in the first place, but forced myself to not dwell on it too much; I had to have my wits still about me. I couldn't miss _anything._ I had the homeless network standing watch at key points around Baker Street, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. The slightest change could signal my brother’s minions arriving, and we needed all the warning we could get.

“Oi, stop checking my phone every five seconds, eat your food.” Victor pointed out; eating another slice of the pancakes he had cooked up. They were American style, something he’d learnt during his time over there. His excuse for making them was a) I needed the calories and b) he was probably going back to eating crap food, he was making the most of nice things while he could.

“Not hungry.” I wasn't, I hadn’t felt hungry in days. I felt sick; my stomach feeling like it was doing the impossible and twisting itself in knots.

“Well eat anyway; Mrs Hudson will do her nut to see you refusing to eat.” Victor encouraged, “Besides, you need the energy; you fell asleep within seconds of lying flat last night. If you want to actually be able to fight with me when the time comes, you’re going to need it.”

“I last on cases all the time without food or sleep.” I grumbled, he’d seen me do it enough time.

“This isn’t a case, so eat up.” Victor replied, finishing off his third pancake.

“This is a bit more important than a case.” This was... I wasn't even sure what to class this as. Definitely not a normal everyday occurrence.

“Fine then, eat for me, so I have memory of you actually feeding yourself so I don't have to worry about you every single second.” Victor answered, actually starting to look worried.

“You’ll be a bit too busy staying alive.” I mumbled, because no doubt Mycroft would be sending out MI5’s best on the most dangerous of missions from now on, if he hadn’t been already. Wouldn’t it be _convenient_ if Victor ‘disappeared’ on a mission, so he really couldn't come back... God, if I wasn't feeling sick enough as it was.

“Well yes, which means you need to be trying, too. Prove to the asshole you call a brother that you can survive by yourself without him intervening, which means eating something.” Victor encouraged me, “Just eat one, alright? Just one.”

“Fine.” If only just to prove my brother wrong at something.

Reluctantly, I eat one pancake, checking Victor’s phone for updates periodically. I’d have to get a new phone after he left, so I could contact Lestrade and Molly when I needed them, and research things at crime scenes. I wouldn’t be able to use this phone, this would probably go back with Victor, considering how well equipped it was, nothing but the best for MI5 agents who proved their worth.

I’d have to add some of my own mods to my new one. Anti-tracking device, try and keep it from being hacked, or bugged, by Mycroft, blocking John’s number, anything else I had to do to stop myself from being stalked, or contacted by unsavoury people.

As I finished my meal, the phone beeped, signalling a text. A text from one of the homeless network... Billy to be precise. Always a reliable source.

‘Blacked out car nearing B St.’ His text read. Shit. Today looked like it was the day.

“One of Mycroft’s cars is on its way.” I announced, as I received three more texts, documenting the cars movement. It was getting closer; it would be here in precisely one minute by my calculations.

“Show time then.” Victor sighed, picking up a go bag, one he’d had packed for a _very_ long time now.

“Show time.” I grabbed my coat, the two of us running into the bedroom, climbing out and down the fire escape, heading away from Baker Street through the back alleys, trying to remain hidden from the cameras. If Mycroft wanted to take my friend away, he was going to have to _find_ him first.

Together, we raced down back alleys, making sure to take turns at random, avoiding every camera we could, all the time checking the phone for updates. The guards were confused, had searched the whole of Baker Street and found nothing, and were searching the surrounding houses. Little did they know that we were at least twenty streets away by this point.

“Remember the plan, though, don't get cocky. They’ll still find us eventually.” Victor reminded me, like I needed reminding of that. There wasn't a single safe place in all of England where we could hide. Mycroft could find us _anywhere,_ and even if he didn't, he knew of my bolt holes, had made it his mission to find out every single one and keep watch on each one. And that wasn't including the surveillance he had on my friends houses and their places of work, the restaurants I frequented, and anywhere else I could possibly go.

There was nowhere to go, but we were running anyway, prolonging the inevitable. Just to prove a point, just to show how much we didn't want this. It would probably be ignored by my brother, but we had to _try,_ and make the most of our time together while we still had it.

Turning right, we ran down another alley, scaling a wall and turning another right, finding ourselves near Camden. Good, lots of hiding places around here, places unguarded by cameras, where people didn't really pay attention to what was going on around them.

Also bad, those kinds of things were _exactly_ what Mycroft needed to catch us without causing a scene.

The phone beeped again, from another one of the network. ‘Seemed to have gotten new orders, heard them say something about Camden?’

“They’re tracking the phone.” Stupid, _stupid_ for not realising that, so bloody stupid! I should have known.

“Then don't just stand there, drop it and run!” Victor threw the phone away, grabbing my hand and speeding down another alley. _Please let us get away, please let us get away!_


	96. Chapter 96

95 Mycroft's POV

My plan was going well, so far, my agents closing in around Victor and Sherlock efficiently, just as I had hoped for. I knew that it would have been impossible to extract Victor from Baker Street, not without causing a large scene, and alienating Mrs Hudson further from me, which would not end well, I could have possibly needed her in the future. I needed her on side as much as possible, so it was important to make sure she was not a witness to this.

Getting my brother and his assistant out of Baker Street had been easy; all I had needed was to send a car and a few men over there, Sherlock’s homeless network taking the bait, ensuring that they left in an attempt to hide from me. Then it was all a case of tracking Victor’s phone, it may have been equipped with anti-tracking software, but even MI5’s technology could be hacked, especially by someone with as much reach as I had.

But now that the phone had been ditched, it was more about watching the camera feeds of London, instructing my men on where to find my brother. Hopefully in a more secluded area, to avoid a scene. Thankfully, the chase was taking place down alleys and backstreets, places where nobody paid attention, where cars could easily kidnap someone in the blink of an eye, even MI5 agents.

“They’re heading towards the Forum, behind the office block.” I instructed my men, watching them quickly move into position, minutes before Sherlock and Victor turned up. Luckily, there didn't seem to be many people milling around at this time. Most were standing in front of the Forum, and the office workers were at home, thanks to it being a weekend. The back alley was clear; the perfect spot to grab two highly trained men.

“This way, there’s more alleys down here.” Sherlock instructed, doing just as I thought he would, turning left on the main road to head towards the _exact_ alley where my men were.

“Target sighted.” An operative told me.

“Hold your position, act when they are further away from the public.” Just in case.

As Sherlock and Victor disappeared down the alley, two of my cars drew up to the alley entrance, one for Sherlock, and one for Victor. Victor’s would bring him here, while Sherlock’s would take him to Baker Street, and keep him there until Victor was safely out of the country. It was all seamless, and was running so smoothly, everything going _exactly_ right.

“Shit!” Victor spotted an operative, both he and Sherlock turning round, finding that the cars were blocking their way, operatives waiting for them on both ends of the alley.

“Come quietly, and we’ll make this easy for you.” Right on script operative number three.

“Never.” Victor spun round, sending an elbow flying into the agent behind him, sending him stumbling to the floor.

The others attacked straight away, setting about restraining both men, and managed without difficulty, Victor was immediately sedated, to minimise escape attempts. Sherlock was _supposed_ to have the same done to him, but he was proving difficult, fighting every hand on him desperately.

“Victor! Victor, no!” he was shouting, struggling more than I had ever seen him do, making it difficult for my men to keep hold of him.

“Sedate him, sedate him now!” he was shouted too much, people would _notice_ and that would give him the chance to track down the car, and try to take Victor back. I could not have that; he could _not_ get Victor back, not under any circumstances. I didn't care how much he cared for the man, he was not going to be allowed to be around such a terrible influence, one who was playing fast and loose with Sherlock’s friends, setting him up to lose them all.

Though... I had to admit to a _twinge_ of guilt, watching the distress on my brother’s face at this moment. He looked seconds away from a panic attack, so desperate and scared for his friend. I was forced to remember a similar reaction when he was a child, to when I told him that Redbeard was dead. Even at twelve, he had been tough for Daddy to restrain, and the meltdown had lasted _hours._ Mummy hadn’t been pleased, had said she was trying to avoid it happening by telling Sherlock that Redbeard had been sent to live on a farm, but why should I have kept up the lie? It was childish, and beneath Sherlock to believe such a stupid lie, and besides, he was becoming insufferable, asking to visit his precious dog every time he came home from school. It was better he learnt the truth, instead of living a lie.

Shaking the guilt off as the needle went in, my brother went limp, being placed in one of my cars, before being taken back to Baker Street.

“Operation complete, the first package will be with you soon, and will be suitably restrained. The second will be taken to the agreed location and watched. Shall I give you half hourly reports?” my top agent asked, always a good one that one, so loyal, and knew exactly what I wanted.

“Excellent, and send me hourly reports until the package wakes up, then make it half hourly. Ring my assistant if something goes wrong.” I ordered, ringing off, before phoning up John, “The plan is underway, I shall send a car for you.”

Right, time to prepare for Victor’s arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is planning to see Logan, go see it! It's amazing, possibly the most perfect swan song for Wolverine possible.


	97. Chapter 97

96 John's POV

Words cannot describe the satisfaction I felt as I watched Victor slowly wake up in handcuffs, surrounded by guards, while Mycroft read a file nonchalantly.

“You _utter_ bastards.” Victor spat straight away, hauling himself to his feet, handcuffs clinking behind his back.

“Language like that is unbecoming, Victor.” Mycroft answered, looking up from his file so cooly it was like he was chatting about the weather.

“Kidnapping people off the streets and taking them away from their brothers is _unbecoming_ Mycroft.” Victor glared such a glare; lesser men would have ran for the hills. Mycroft just blinked.

“Yes well it was a necessary thing to do, to set things to rights again.” Mycroft answered, “I’m sure you’re wondering exactly what it is I plan to do with you, now that you are no longer required to look after my brother, so let’s get down to business. You are required to go back out on a mission for MI5, there’s a large terrorist organisation forming in America, one that needs eradicating quickly and efficiently, something you are rather capable of doing.”

“You think I’m just going to waltz away from Sherlock because you order me to? I don't think so, Mycroft.” Victor took a step forward; the guards grabbed him, holding him in place.

“Well I think you will be, because what I say goes. You are not in a position to argue, Victor, you never were. Your time with Sherlock has run out, it is time for you to leave, and let me handle my brother from now on.” Mycroft was ice cold as he spoke, yet it was obvious how much he _hated_ Victor. Not as much as I did, though, I didn't think anybody could hate him as much as I did. The smug bastard, thinking he could take my place in Sherlock’s life, act all high and mighty, like he knew what he was doing. Well too late now, mister, _I_ was back, and he was going far, far away.

“Let you _handle_ him? He’s not a dog Mycroft! He doesn’t need to be handled; he needs to be _loved_ by someone who actually knows what he wants!” Victor argued, the guards hold starting to slip as he pulled against them.

“What Sherlock wants, and what he needs, are two completely different things. He doesn’t understand his own limitations, which will ultimately lead to pain, in the end; all I am doing is preventing that pain.” Mycroft answered in such a way it sounded like he barely deemed Victor worthy of hearing such explanation.

“By taking the person he calls his _best friend_ away from him? By leaving him with _this_ man?” Victor looked at me like he would kill me in a heartbeat if he could, “The man who was revealed to have _lied_ to him their entire friendship? Who treats him like he _can’t_ do anything but solve crimes? How is that preventing pain?! That’s just making things worse for him!”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Victor, you have the notion that Sherlock can be _more_ than a crime solver, but he can’t. His limitations prevent that, and no matter what you think, he will never be able to get past them. It is best to leave him in his little world, and not get his hopes up for anything more.” Mycroft was right about that. Sherlock needed his own little world, not hopes and dreams of better things he couldn't reach. Victor tried to give him those dreams, despite knowing that, even when it started going well, Sherlock would screw it up somehow. It was best for him to stay in his world, with his mysteries to solve, with a sort of routine going, and to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.

“For someone so intelligent, you are so _stupid_ and narrow minded. Sherlock is a _wonderful_ human being, who does struggle at times with things, but when you give him the tools and the support, he can accomplish _anything_ he wants to. You would see that if you actually saw past his diagnosis.” Victor was incredibly passionate as he spoke. Shame he was wrong.

“If you really believe that, then you’re the stupid one. Sherlock can’t do anything, he can solve crimes, let him be happy with that.” I told him, honestly, it was ridiculous, thinking that Sherlock was capable of anything. He could make great leaps with his mind when it came to science and crime solving, but he couldn't do the simplest things, such as being _nice_ to people. He wasn't cut out for it, and the sooner Victor learnt that, the better.

Or not, he wasn't exactly going to be _around_ to do anything with the knowledge, anyway.

“Like _you_ know what he’s capable of. Like you know _anything_ about him that you didn't read in a file,” Victor turned to me, eyes blazing with hatred. I let him, wasn't like he was going to get out of this, or get back to Sherlock. We’d won.

“I think I know a _bit_ more about him than you do.” Being a doctor and all, I think I knew Sherlock’s limitations, than some MI5 agent.

“Oh really? What’s his name, then, his _full_ name? Where are his bolt holes? Who is his favourite composer? What was his favourite thing to do at university? You don't know do you? All you know is what you’ve read, and what you’ve presumed about him, you know _nothing_ about Sherlock, nothing of value! He’s just your meal ticket, the way you get your kicks, you don't care about _him,_ you just want his adrenaline rushes, and the feeling that you’re _useful_ to someone.” Victor’s head swung to the side as I punched him the face.

“You do not get to talk to me like that. You don’t know who _I_ am; all _you_ know is from a _file._ ” I rubbed my knuckles, satisfaction warring with anger at this man. What did he know of me? What did he know of my relationship with Sherlock? _Nothing,_ that’s what.

“Or maybe I bothered to find out about you, so I knew who broke Sherlock’s heart.” Victor replied, uncaring of the blood dripping from his nose.

“I don't think _I_ did anything Victor, he did it all himself. If he’d stayed out of files he shouldn’t have been in, in the first place, none of this would have happened.” I still had the high ground here. Victor was the one who didn't understand, who thought he could fix everything with words and socialisation. Not a chance. Not a chance in _hell._

“You are so unbelievably deluded! How can you even _think_ that you’re the better person in this?!” Victor’s shout was cut off by Mycroft.

“This isn’t going anywhere. Get him out of here and brief him of his mission. I have to check on Sherlock.” he ordered, turning away, towards Anthea.

“You won’t get away with this! I swear you won’t! I’ll hunt you down myself, you’ll never get away-” Victor shouted as he was dragged away, leaving a large sense of satisfaction in me, one I couldn't wait to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and the kudos! It means so much!


	98. Chapter 98

97 Sherlock's POV

“Victor! Victor!” I screamed out, struggling against the hands holding me back. I had to get to Victor, before Mycroft sent him away! I had to get to him and get him out! I couldn't carry on without him! I needed him! I could already feel my chest caving in, the whole world sinking into grey, the connections I had to human beings slipping away. I couldn't go back to that! I couldn't let Victor go back to MI5! He had to stay here!

“Let me go! Let me go! Victor!” I cried out again, pulling at all the hands. There were so many hands, too many hands! All over and too tight and wouldn’t let go why couldn't they let go?! I needed to get to Victor, Victor needed me! I needed Victor! I needed to get to him _right now._

But the hands didn't let up, their hold never loosening or anything, they wouldn’t let go! They were too harsh and too close and wouldn’t let go no matter what I did! They wouldn’t let me go and Victor was leaving and I couldn't get to him! I needed to get to him! But the hands wouldn’t let me go!

“He’s gone, Sherlock, there’s nothing you can do so stop fighting.” One of the men growled, he couldn't be gone already, Victor couldn’t be gone already! I needed him! I needed him more than I needed the air barely making it to my lungs.

“Please no, p-please give him back.” I begged pathetically, tears streaming so much I could barely see. I needed Victor, please I _needed_ Victor.

“He’s gone, he’s not coming back. The boss put him in a plane an hour ago.” The man told me, not looking at all sad about this.

“No, no, no.” My tears turned into sobs, my chest feeling like it was caving in at the news. Victor couldn't be gone, Victor couldn't be _gone_ like this. He wasn't... he was supposed to stay, he was supposed to be the one that _stayed,_ the one who didn't run away or treat me like I was a freak. He was supposed to _stay,_ and not let me be alone again.

The hands loosened as my knees gave out, leaving me to fall and curl into a ball on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Victor couldn't be gone, not my Victor. Not my Victor, Mycroft couldn't have taken him, he couldn't have _taken_ him like this. Not like this, not in any way. He couldn't have taken him, he _couldn't_ have.

“Boss, he’s stopped fighting. He’s just crying now.” the man was saying somewhere, the rest standing behind me like guards, watching as I fell to pieces in the most public of ways. I hadn’t acted like _this_ in so long, not in public, not in front of so many. But I couldn't stop it; my entire body felt like it had been crushed, like all the air had gone from the room, like _everything_ had gone wrong. Everything _had_ gone wrong. Victor was _gone,_ and never going to return. I was never going to see Victor again, _my_ Victor was gone, and I was alone. I was alone again.

Nobody would understand like he did, or treat me like I was a human being, or anything else, ever again. There would be _nothing_ between me and the calls of ‘freak’ and ‘psychopath,’ no matter what anybody promised, it was going to be _exactly_ like it used to be. Me, in my glass cage, wheeled out for cases and nothing else. Treated like an emotionless, crime solving _robot_ who was good for _nothing_ else. How could I not panic? How could I not cry like this? Everything was ruined, and nothing would be the same again, I had every right to _scream_ and cry as much as I wanted.

“Oh calm down, a friend left, it’s for the best.” The man was saying, “Whatever. Leave him to it, guys; we’re not babysitters to the mentally disabled.” Footsteps vibrating across the floor, leaving me in my curled ball of misery.

I couldn't calm down, couldn't stop sobbing, no matter how hard I tried. I was stuck on the floor, wishing for Victor to come back, for Victor be here and to hold me. He knew how to calm me down when I was upset, he knew how to treat me, he knew _me._ I was never going to have that again. Victor was _gone,_ Victor was really gone. After so much time preparing for it and now he was _gone_ and never coming back.

“Victor.” I sobbed pathetically, as the door opened again.

“Hey, don't cry, Sherlock, he’s long gone.” That voice, _no,_ “It’s alright, though, I’m back now, so we can go back to normal again, like nothing happened.” not John, not John, not _John._ Not right now, not _ever._ He couldn't, he couldn't be here! He couldn't just waltz in like nothing happened and try to get back into this flat! He wasn't... he couldn’t be here!

“Get out.” I heaved out, forcing myself to sit up and _calm down._ I was _not_ letting him back, I was not allowing him _back_ in this flat, to see me like this, to try and _look after_ me again. He wasn't coming back, and I _refused_ to let him see me like this. _He_ didn't have the _right_ to see this, to see all his damn thoughts about me confirmed.

“Now why would I be doing that? You need an assistant and a flatmate, and both positions have just opened up.” John smiled like he was trying to be kind, and instead it just looked smug. Smug and twisted and _evil._ Like my brother on his biggest power trip.

“I said get out; I don't _want_ or _need_ you here.” I stood, refusing to let my legs wobble, to look pathetic in _any_ way. Not with _him._

“That’s not what I think, or what Mycroft thinks, for that matter. I’m staying, you can’t throw me out.” John stood his ground; he thought that, did he? He thought he could barge his way in and _stay_ by force? That I was too pathetic and helpless, I couldn't kick him out myself? He was _wrong._

“I said: GET OUT!” I shoved him out of the room, letting all the rage of the past few weeks, all the _fight_ I’d had to warn Victor against, out, pushing and shoving and shouting until John was out of my room.

“You really want to fight me on this? You _really_ want to fight me, and take on your _brother_ in this decision? We’ve already sent Victor away, he isn’t coming back, and you can’t deal with being alone. You’ll be wanting me here.” John smirked, even while fighting my advance on him.

“You took away the _one_ good person I had in my life, the _one_ person who understood me and accepted me for who I was. I will _never, ever_ let you back in this flat ever again. I don't care what my brother says, you are _not_ coming back.” I shoved him out the door, slamming and locking it behind me, glad the guards were also on the landing outside.

With that, I slid down the door in the _silent_ flat, realising just how alone I was again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, I love seeing your reactions to Mycroft and John's actions!


	99. Chapter 99

98 John's POV                                                                                           

“May as well go home, he’s going to be showing off for a while, and I can handle him from there.” I told the guards, all of whom were waiting on the stairs of 221b. Though none looked particular sure of leaving, probably due to the sobs echoing through the house, hardly muffled at all by the locked doors.

“The Boss said to make sure he was okay before we left.” The head of the team explained, glancing at the door nervously as another sob rang through.

“He’ll be fine, he’s just showing off. He just needs to be ignored for a bit and he’ll soon calm down.” I was sure of it, that’s how you dealt with Sherlock sulks. Even if usual sulks involved curling up on the sofa and sighing _very_ loudly, and this was crying bordering on hysteria, it was all the same. Ignore it and eventually it would go away. Sherlock didn't want his friend taken away from him, he’d soon get used to it, and eventually would see the logic behind our actions and adapt. He worked with logic well, he’d see this for what it was, too.

“Are you sure? What if he-” the guard continued.

“It will be fine, honestly. He’ll calm down soon when he sees that we’re not going to back down, or let him get his own way here, anything he throws at me, I’ll be ready for.” My leg felt stronger than ever at this moment, I could handle whatever Sherlock wanted to throw at me.

Possibly a massive strop. Meh, I’d handled worse.

The guards still looked hesitant, though. You’d think hired help wouldn’t care this much, but I probably should have guessed that Mycroft’s men were a bit more than your average hired muscle.

“It’s fine, seriously. Unless you all want to stay to help me unpack?” I waved a hand at the boxes in the hallway downstairs, containing all the things from my other flat. I’d had them packed and ready for _weeks_ now, just waiting for the go ahead from Mycroft.

That made the guards all leave, so I got on with the next job at hand - unpacking. Obviously, I couldn't unpack any of my things that were going in the main flat, as it was currently locked. But I could unpack my things in my room, which was upstairs, conveniently not part of the main floor of 221b.

Opening the door to my room, I found that it was exactly how I had left it. The bed, wardrobe and bedside cabinets were all still there, not moved an inch. In fact, I didn't think anybody had been in here since I had left. Everything was covered in dust, the bed sheets hadn’t been changed either. The windows and curtains were closed too, filling the room with a musty smell.

Really, nobody had come up here at all, not even Mrs Hudson to clean? Bloody hell, surely _someone_ had realised that it would need cleaning at some point! It wasn't like it would be remaining empty forever.

At least Victor hadn’t moved into it, so I didn't have to deal with his things. I would have to deal with them downstairs, but at least my room was clear. I briefly wondered where Victor had put his things, but shoved the thought away, not really caring too much. He was history in this flat, a brief mistake that would soon be rectified. Who cared where his things were? As long as they weren’t in my way, and weren’t around Sherlock, who really cared? Certainly not me.

With that, I started unpacking, listening out for the noise downstairs to cease. Windows were opened, clothes were put away, the bed sheets changed, and just about everything else unpacked by the time Sherlock stopped making noise, which was two hours later. Finally, I could actually go and talk to the man like a rational human being. Or at least try to, Sherlock was too stubborn for his own good at times. It was entirely possible that he’d start arguing with me again, and try to shove me out.

Well, he could _try._ But I was staying; I wasn't going anywhere, unless it was with him. Victor was gone for good. He wasn't coming back to live here, he was a bad influence, and didn't understand Sherlock in the slightest. I did. I could look after him properly, keep him out of trouble, and make sure he kept himself safe. And Sherlock needed to understand that. This was for the best, it wasn’t out of spite, or done to deliberately torture him, or whatever else he was going to say about it. It was for his own good, and the sooner he understood that, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for commenting, your enthusiasm for this story is amazing!


	100. Chapter 100

99 Sherlock's POV

Everything felt numb, and dark, and distant. Like I was underwater. It was all... it was all so distant. I, I think I liked it, it was, it was better than being in the present. Where John was, and Victor wasn't.

“Sherlock for God’s sake, get up! Stop showing off for once.” I think he was shaking my shoulder, like it would cause a reaction. But everything seemed so dark and blank I couldn't tell. If he was, I wanted to shove him off, but my limbs weren’t co-operating, nothing was. Everything was just numb. I wasn't even really feeling _anything_ right now, I’d shut down. Unable to take this situation. Not without Victor.

“Fine, show off then, see if I care. It’s not going to change anything. Victor is gone and I’m back, get used to it.” John’s footsteps echoed away. There were sounds of things being, being unpacked, I think, outside, in the main flat. He was unpacking, taking away Victor’s things and putting his back in. He was removing Victor’s presence, filling it with _him_ again. Not giving me an inch, or any time to adjust. I couldn't... we couldn't live like this. We couldn't be doing this, this wasn't, this wasn't right.

Victor wasn't supposed to be gone; Victor wasn't supposed... it wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't supposed to be... Mycroft shouldn’t have come in and changed everything; he should have left us alone. I had been happy, I’d actually been _happy._ I had felt accepted and human, not like, not like a burden, or, or a machine. I didn't want to go back to that; I couldn't go back to _that._ Not again, not after so much acceptance recently.

“Sherlock? Victor? Why is there so much dirt trampled through my hallway?” a female voice, Mrs Hudson, coming upstairs.

“John?” confused, hesitant.

“Hello Mrs Hudson, how are you?” trying to be nice, sound friendly, like nothing had happened.

“Where’s Sherlock and Victor?” less confused, hardened resolve, though scared.

“Victor had to go back to MI5, there was a mission that needed his desperate attention, and Sherlock’s sulking in his room. He’ll be right as rain soon enough, though, so no need to worry.” Still so casual, like this was normal. Like this was perfectly okay. Justifiable. Like I was overreacting, or, or showing off over a trivial thing.

“He _what?_ ” shriller, _please don't believe him, please remember everything we’d said recently._

“Yeah, turns out loyalty wasn't Victor’s strong point.” Still so casual, pushing the blame away from him.

“Don't lie to me, John Watson, _you’re_ at fault here, and I won’t stand for it. Now let me through to see Sherlock or there will be _dire_ consequences.” The door banged open again, “Oh Sherlock.” footsteps, coming back towards me, hands landing on my shoulders. Nice hands, kind hands, hands that didn't burn.

“I’d leave him, Mrs Hudson, no need to encourage another sulk.” John was in the doorway, steel undertone in his voice.

“He, he’s gone. Victor is gone.” Saying it out loud made it feel like my internal organs were cramping. Victor was gone, Victor was _gone._ And John was _back._ Unpacking his things, taking away traces of Victor, trying to make things as _normal_ for him as possible. He was taking away Victor, piece by piece, until there would be nothing left, and I’d be stuck with him. He was in the flat now; no way would Mycroft let him get kicked out again.

Stuck with him, and he wouldn’t be like he was before. I could tell, he wasn't going to be _kind,_ or friendly. More a guard, a captor, making sure I didn't _step out of line_ again. Back to the glass cage, kept from trying to make contact with others, from risking making _mistakes._ Treated like I was just a crime solving machine and nothing more.

“Victor went away because he had to, you knew it would happen eventually, Sherlock, he couldn't stay forever.” Like he truly believed that. Twisting the truth, to garner sympathy, or make it sound like I was overreacting.

“Get out.” Mrs Hudson this time, fiercer than I had ever heard her before.

“Excuse me?” John was shocked by that, good.

“I said, get out. You’re not welcome in here anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 chapters! Thank you everyone for commenting and encouraging me to get this far!


	101. Chapter 101

100 Mycroft's POV

After receiving reports from my operatives, I took a moment to be relieved that our plan had worked. Victor was gone, well, would be on his way to Turkey for his new mission as soon as he calmed down, and therefore would return to being MI5’s problem, for the most part. John was back at Baker Street, unpacking and putting the flat back to its original state, and, therefore, off my back. And Sherlock, well... he would adjust soon enough, and then we could all go back to normal, acting like nothing at all was happening. Safe in the knowledge that everybody who needed caring for, was cared for, and that there was less chance of an _incident_ putting everything out of balance.

And that was when the phone rang. And it was John calling.

“I take it everything went smoothly?” I answered the phone, hoping it was him saying it was a job well done.

“Not so much.” John sighed, _here we go,_ “I mean, I’m in, unpacked and everything. But Sherlock’s not exactly taking it well. And neither is Mrs Hudson.”

“It has been two hours since you arrived John; I did tell you that Sherlock was going to show off over this.” I had warned him, and warned him, and warned him some more. But as per usual, John had heard half of what I said and ignored the half that mentioned anything that wasn't about his normal, danger filled life at Baker Street.

“You didn't say Mrs Hudson was going to take his side, and all but kick me out!” John argued, dear God, the man had invaded Afghanistan; an old woman wasn't exactly a difficult thing to face.

“You knew from previous experience that Mrs Hudson is very protective of my brother, of course she wasn't going to welcome you back with open arms straight away.” Must I explain _everything_ to everyone? It was like living with a bunch of _goldfish._ “Just carry on like nothing happened, let Sherlock adjust, and she will eventually come back to your side again.”

Mrs Hudson was protective, but she did not get in the way when Sherlock was happy. Come to think of it, she was actually pleasant to me, too, even when I was having another argument with my brother in her presence. She was just feeling protective right now, nothing more to it than that. She would get over it, just like Sherlock would. It would just take more than a few hours for everyone to adjust, wasn't that obvious to anyone at all?

“You sure about that? Because the look she just gave me was one that said that she is not going to be doing any forgiving any time soon.” John complained, I had supported this man and let him whine at me for too long. If he was going to be Sherlock’s companion again, he was going to have to stand on his own two feet again, without whining to me about every little slight against him.

“John you are a war veteran who invaded Afghanistan, I’m sure you can handle mean looks from harmless old ladies. Now stop whining like a child at me and get back to what you’re supposed to be doing, which is getting on everyone’s good side again. If they don't warm back up to you, then that’s your own fault, and you will just have to deal with it.” with that, I stopped the call, leaning back in my chair, praying for something to give me some strength.

I had done my best here, gotten everything back into place and ready for things to go back to how they should have been, John should have been able to work out the rest. It wasn't like it was hard to do, he had charmed everyone with ease before, he could do it again. The human race was known to be resistant to change, but they also liked an easy life. They would soon get used to this arrangement and move on, like I had planned. If not, well, John would have to deal with it, wouldn’t he? As long as Sherlock accepted him, which he would, once he saw the logic in the situation, then it didn't matter what Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or Miss Hooper thought.

All that mattered was Sherlock’s happiness, nobody else’s. And as long as he accepted John back, and his colleagues continued to be nice to him, (note to self, check up on the Anderson and Donovan situation) then everything would be _fine._ It didn't matter how anybody else felt, as long as Sherlock was safe and happy. Solving crimes, not on drugs, not tempted to over share and risk a chance of being bullied, and part of a partnership based on respect for his limitations, he would be _fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to everyone who has commented, and been so passionate in your comments, it means so much to read them all. So thank you, every single one of you, it really means so much to me!


	102. Chapter 102

101 Sherlock's POV

Lestrade and Molly were quickly informed of the day’s events, via Mrs Hudson, I didn't even want to speak right now, let alone repeat that Victor was _gone,_ out loud. Repeatedly saying it out loud made it real, more real than it already was. I didn't want it to be more real, I wanted it reversed, I wanted Victor back, and I certainly wanted John gone. Even if Victor didn't come back, I wanted John _gone._

But it was impossible. Over the coming days, John stayed put refusing to leave the house, unless I was going out. If I tried to leave, he followed me, and I soon discovered that if I tried sneaking out at night, Mycroft had placed operatives in the surrounding area, waiting to find me and drag me back to Baker Street. I wasn't allowed to leave on my own, and there was no way to contact anyone, as I didn't have a phone anymore. I was completely under my brother’s thumb, unable to breathe or move without him knowing about it, and no way to escape it.

For days, I despaired at the situation, wallowing alone, barricaded into my room, only letting Mrs Hudson inside on occasion. John tried to shout ‘sense’ through the door, trying to make it sound like this whole thing was _good_ for me, that if I thought about it, that this was the best course of action. As in, sending Victor away, taking away the _only person_ who actually bothered to try and understand who I truly was, and replacing him with _John_ was a good idea.

And it made me angry. So, so _angry._ Hatred for John and Mycroft burning so brightly it forced me into action. Because how _dare_ John try to bully me. How _dare_ he try and take over my life again. And how _dare_ he act like this was for my own good. I wouldn’t stand for it, wouldn’t ever let him get away with this. I was going to fight him, every single step of the way, and he wasn't going to bloody stop me, never again.

Moving the chest of drawers out from in front of the door, I stormed into the kitchen, making John leap feet, clearly having not expected this. He knew me so little, it was laughable. Even Victor knew better than to believe that I’d let someone walk all over me.

“Finally decided to see sense, then?” he asked, sounded smug. _Bastard._

“No.” I refused to look around, to see everything of Victor’s taken, to be replaced with John’s things. It would do nothing but upset me, and I was not going to be upset right now. I was _done_ with being upset and wallowing in it, I was going to fight. And that meant making my presence known in this flat again, and doing what _I_ wanted to do, showing that I was not to be controlled.

I swiftly grabbed my coat, pulling it on and heading for the stairs, but a hand grabbing my arm stopped me.

“And where do you think you’re going?” John had steel in his voice, like _that_ was intimidating in the slightest. Moron. I wasn't one of Mycroft’s minions, or some idiot in the army. I was Sherlock Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes wasn't intimidated by _anyone,_ and he certainly didn't bow down to big brother’s agents.

“Out.” I yanked out of his hold, only getting grabbed back a second later, his grip turning painful. If he thought that would stop me, he was more stupid than I first thought.

“Out _where?”_ John’s grip tightened further, near to the point where my bones would creak. It wasn't a deterrent in the _slightest,_ I had felt worse pain, and everything he did now was fuelling my anger against him. A little bit of pain wasn't going to stop me from getting what I wanted.

“None of your business.” I pushed him off again, yet was still followed down the stairs.

“Everything you do is my business; it’s what I’m here for.” John made it sound like that was a _good_ thing, it made my skin crawl.

“Glad to see you’re not even denying it anymore, that’ll make things slightly less tedious.” I tried to brush it off, managing to open the front door. It was slammed shut again before I had a chance to take even one step towards freedom.

“Stop being stupid, Sherlock, you _know_ that this is for your own good, that you can’t be left to your own devices. Stop fighting and just _accept_ it, and tell me _where you’re going._ ” Oh that voice could make lesser men quiver. Luckily, I wasn't a lesser man.

“What, so you can follow me? Act like you’re my _friend_ and _partner?_ Like I’m a willing participant in this arrangement? I don't think so.” I slammed the door, making sure to crowd into John’s space, towering over him, “You may act tough and like you’re in charge here, but you’re _not._ You’re not my friend, or my partner, or anything more than a thorn in my side. And if you think you can bully me into doing what you say, into letting you back into this flat with open arms, or even letting you follow me like some sort of _puppy_ every time I go out, then you’re sorely mistaken. I’ve faced down _serial killers_ and psychopaths like _Moriarty,_ if you think that _you,_ a retired army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a desperate need to feel _useful_ is going to do anything but annoy me, you’re dumber than I thought.”

With that, I stormed out the house, slamming the door and heading out onto the streets. I needed a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, if I suddenly disappear, it's because my bloody laptop has decided to be an arsehole with me, and is having trouble connecting to the internet every time I turn the damn thing on!


	103. Chapter 103

102 Mycroft’s POV

With a sigh, I watched my brother storm out of Baker Street, turn down an alley, and hop the wall with ease, before continuing on his journey. And judging by the small fight over the door, he had had an argument with John, probably over their current living arrangements.

It had been a week, he surely should have been used to this by now, it wasn't _difficult_ to understand, was, in fact, rather simple. Victor had not been a good house mate or partner for him, John was, all I had done was change his house mates over, so he could have the help he needed to get by in life. Sherlock should have understood this, he wasn't stupid by any means, and knew his limitations by now.

Perhaps he did see the truth, but was being blinded by sentiment. That was the most likely explanation, now that I thought about it. Victor had my brother _so_ sentimental as of late, encouraging him to open up to others, show some of those emotions I had spent _years_ teaching him to hide. Yes, that was most likely the cause of the rift.

Oh well, that would soon change, once Sherlock got back into his old routine. He just needed some more time to adjust. Once he had adjusted, then all would be well again, I was sure of it. Sherlock had always shown off when things had changed in his life, had never enjoyed changes in routine, his regular friends, or his surroundings. But he always adjusted in the end, he just needed a small amount of time, and then everything would be fine again, just like always.

I mean, if he could get over Redbeard, he could get over anything. Especially something as insignificant as Victor and John.

“Follow Ugly Duckling, track his movements, and make sure he stays away from previously discussed areas.” I ordered the guards around Baker Street, before heading down to the basement, where our holding cells were kept. I needed to see Victor, see if he was willing to talk yet.

Usually, I would have sent him off on mission, but he needed debriefing, so he didn't walk in blind. There was no point in sending out MI5’s finest without briefing him on his mission, it would get him killed, and get me into trouble. So, even though I wanted him out of the country as soon as possible, I couldn't get rid of him without following at least _some_ procedure.

“Good morning, Victor, feel like listening today?” it had been three days since my last visit; he should be ready for human interaction by now.

“I don't know; feel like being a compassionate human being yet?” Victor raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall, not showing a hint of stress over his current situation. Damn his MI5 training. Maybe breaking him would be more difficult than first thought... should have realised that Victor was stronger than that. He was the best MI5 had, _and_ was capable of living with Sherlock for a sustained amount of time without breaking.

“I am being compassionate; I’m offering to let you out of this cell.” I smiled, knowing it unnerved most when I did so.

“Not interested, unless it involves going back to Baker Street.” Victor answered, still as cool as ever. He had shown more signs of stress when he had first been brought in here. There had been no sarcastic retorts then, just fierce shouts and insults. The guards had had a hard time holding him still.

“You know that that isn’t happening, Victor, no matter how many times you joke about it.” it was tedious, quite frankly, hearing him make reference to talking about going back to my brother, repeatedly.

“That’s what you think.” Victor smirked, like he knew something I didn't.

“Sherlock isn’t coming to get you; he isn’t stupid enough to try.” My brother was clever, but he wasn't clever enough to bypass all the security in this building.

“Make a man desperate enough, and you don't know what he will do.” Victor replied simply, “You underestimate your brother constantly, Mycroft, and for that, you’ll never understand him, or what he’s truly capable of.”

“I understand more than you.” I knew Sherlock more than _anyone;_ I knew what he needed, and how to give it to him. I wasn't optimistic, and certainly didn't overstate his abilities, unlike Victor.

“Keep on telling yourself that, Mycroft, but when your reign over him proves too much, and he’s had enough of your bullshit, you’ll have the shock of your life on your hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news - I've officially finished uni! Bad news - that means after I've finished my assignments I have to be an adult and get a job, AH! But for now, that means I can move back to updating on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, instead of Saturday, would anybody mind that? I wouldn't move things around usually, but I find it easier to update on Friday's than Saturday's.


	104. Chapter 104

103 Sherlock's POV

My guards were clever enough to leave me alone, so I could hop the fence and go in search for cigarettes in peace. Well, relative peace, anyway. They still followed, a constant presence as I weaved through the dark alleys of London, I didn't stand a chance of ever giving them the slip.

At least they weren’t trying to drag me back to the flat, back to that... that _prison guard._ If they had, they would have had the biggest fight of their lives on their hands. They couldn't keep me inside the flat at all times when there wasn't a case, I would fight them, make sure they knew just _who_ they were dealing with. I may have been Mycroft Holmes’ baby brother, but in some ways, I was more dangerous than he was. He practically controlled England, and whatever agency it was this time, but he wasn't trained like I was. He was slow, fat from overeating, and definitely couldn't handle himself in a fight.

Finally, I found a shop that hadn’t been paid off previously. I darted in quickly, knowing I didn't have much time. If I wasn't technically supposed to leave the house by myself, I doubted I’d be allowed to buy something such as _cigarettes._

“You look like you need one.” The shop keeper handed over the packet as I asked for it, “Bad day?”

“Try bad life.” I made it outside, lighting up blatantly in front of the cameras, before taking the same route I had taken before. The nicotine helped, gave me some sort of rush, while managing to be calming at the same time. _God_ I had needed that, needed to have some sort of substance in me to calm this anger inside.

I just felt so _angry_ right now. So seething with rage and boiling over the anxiety. It had barely been a week without Victor, and yet it was worse than I had planned for. I had expected John to move in, for Victor’s presence to be ripped from the flat like he had never existed, that had all been clearly part of the plan. But _this,_ the guards around Baker Street, John’s treatment of me, how cut off I was from the world, I hadn’t... this wasn't what I thought it would be like.

I thought, I thought that John would come back and pretend that everything was as it was. Pretend to be that nice soldier I had first met, one with steel underneath, but still kind to me. I thought he’d act like we always had before. But he... he was shouting and threatening, saying I was being pathetic and stupid, that I was showing off, trying to follow me everywhere like a guard. I hadn’t expected it, didn't think he would do something like this to me.

I should have, after everything, I should have. But it didn't stop it making my skin crawl, and making the whole world feel like a much, much darker place.

Psh, look at me. Caring over how I was being treated by what was essentially a prison guard. I shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have been reacting like this. I should have stayed angry, kept these thoughts away. I had to stay strong in this, couldn't back down. I refused to back down and let this happen, I had to fight, to keep John feeling as unwanted in my life as possible. Show my brother that this was _not_ going to be stood for, not in a million years.

But it hurt, hurt more than the initial betrayal, and everything in between. To see my life taken over so easily, my perfectly made flat changed, all my control repressed, it was _awful._

I would have to try and contact Lestrade as soon as I got in, get him to give me a good case, something to distract me from this mess. Though, that would involve John coming along, and who knew how many others.

Well, screw it; they would have to deal with it then, wouldn’t they? They’d have to try and keep up with me while I dragged them all over London, because Mycroft couldn't stop that. He wouldn’t _dare_ take my cases away from me, not unless he wanted me straight down the nearest drug den out of boredom. No, Mycroft wouldn’t _dare_ take the cases from me, he may have been the most over controlling and the least understanding brother in the world, but he wasn't stupid enough as to try and take my cases from me. Nobody would try that. It wasn't worth the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, and all the good luck wishes with finding a job, I'm going to need it lol!   
> Also, as a sort of weird side note - if you have seen Kong: Skull Island, that fight scene Tom Hiddleston's character has with the pool cue is now something I imagine Victor has done on mission, if anyone wanted some sort of reference for Victor's fighting style!


	105. Chapter 105

104 Sherlock's POV

The hostile tension the flat didn't lessen once for days on end. Every time I saw John, or one of his things, I was forcefully reminded of how everything had gone to hell, and every time John spoke to me, I was filled with so much rage I just wanted to _scream._ He was constantly condescending, acting like I was being completely ridiculous over this situation. Like I should have been over his betrayal, forgotten about Victor and continued on like nothing had ever happened. I couldn't believe it at first, but soon remembered that John was arrogant man who thought that he was God’s gift to me, simply because my brother had deemed him my carer.

It made my skin crawl, feel too tight over muscles and bones. I _hated_ him; I hated him so much for his attitude and everything he had done. I hated him more than I hated my brother, who had, thankfully, stayed away, so far. Every time John opened his mouth, I wanted to punch him, but resisted, as it would put me on his level, and probably give him some sort of adrenaline fix. Instead, made life as hellish for him as possible. I smoked indoors; spat the most terrible deductions about his life at him, kept him up all night screeching at my violin. Everything I could possibly do to wind him up, and possibly get him out of the house.

But he never left; he stayed, like he was _glued_ here or something. He only ever left when I left, just to follow me. I sometimes gave him the slip, but he caught up, he _always_ caught up.

I felt like I was going mad, being driven _insane_ with all this. I’d never been treated like this before, not even while in rehab. There had always been a small sense of freedom, some sort of reprieve from people. Hell the doctors weren’t even this condescending in rehab, and they knew _all_ my dirty little secrets thanks to my brother.

Which was why, when Lestrade climbed up the outdoor stairs to the balcony, I was relieved. Finally, a friendly face, one that could actually do something to break up this monotony. Or at least give me some other unfriendly faces. In the state I was in, Anderson and Donovan’s taunting would be a welcomed reprieve.

“Wow, you look like crap.” Lestrade greeted me.

“And you’ve tried to stop smoking again, unsuccessfully by the looks of it too, so I think we’re even.” I replied, flicking the end of my latest cigarette off the steps.

“Could have you arrested for that, it’s littering, even when it’s your own flat.” Lestrade sat next me, watching the orange filter float down towards a homeless man beneath us, “Also, it could hurt that guy.”

“Don’t worry about him; he’s one of Mycroft’s men keeping guard.” I shrugged, not really caring. In fact, if Lestrade could arrest me, that would be _great,_ maybe I’d get some peace. I’d actually take sitting in a tiny cell for a few hours, despite how boring it would be. At least I wouldn’t have a lying, condescending, ex-soldier with a God complex trying to break me down with me.

“How can you tell?” Lestrade asked, he was testing me, figuring out how mentally well I was, and if I was on drugs. Not that I could get to any drugs right now, or my homeless network. I was lucky that my cigarettes hadn’t been taken from me at this point.

“Clothes are too new, and the watch is too expensive. Also he arrived on the exact same day John did.” I pointed out the obvious details, “And no, I’m not high, and haven’t been in a _very_ long time, as you damn well know. So why are you here, it’s not just a check up, as that’s currently Mrs Hudson’s job.”

“Well, I figured you could need with a distraction, and I have several cold cases you may want to look at, if you’re up to it.” Lestrade explained.

“Look at them where?” I was interested; hell I was _more_ than interested. I was downright _excited_ for the chance at a case. Cold or not, it could be useful.

“Scotland Yard, I booked out a conference room for us both to work together in. It’s got blinds across all the windows, and more importantly,” he leant close, so to whisper in my ear, “No cameras, so big brother can’t look in.”

“Lestrade, that is quite possibly the best idea you’ve ever had.” It was, quite frankly, brilliant. And he hadn’t made his presence known to John either. There was actually a chance that we could get a bit of time to get on without disturbance from my prison guards. Of course, Mycroft would know where I was, but maybe just maybe, he could leave us be. We were looking at cases; it was innocent enough, and very normal under our circumstances. Hell, even if we were followed by the guard below us, we’d still have some sort of peace if we were quick enough.

“Okay, now I know you’re going stir crazy. Now come on, before anyone sees, my car is around the corner.” Lestrade pointed in the opposite direction of Baker Street.

I didn't need to be asked twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos again!


	106. Chapter 106

105 Lestrade's POV

When I’d said Sherlock looked like crap, I meant it. He looked, quite frankly, terrible. Like he was running entirely on nicotine and the sheer will to keep fighting out of spite. I didn't think I’d ever seen him look so pale in all the years I had known him, not even while he was so high on drugs he could barely keep his thoughts in one place for more than a second.

“I guess it’s a stupid question to ask how you’ve been holding up?” I guessed as I drove.

“It would be utterly pointless.” Sherlock sighed, “John won’t leave the house unless I’m leaving too. If he doesn’t come with me, I’m followed by other agents. And he won’t stop condescending me at every opportunity he can.”

“Sounds horrendous.” I wasn't quite sure how to comfort him, how did one comfort Sherlock Holmes of all people, especially at a time like _this?_

“It is.” Sherlock agreed, looking out the window, body hunched in on itself. He was so stressed; I couldn't imagine how he had been for the last couple of days... I was suddenly very glad that Mrs Hudson had called me, before things had gotten too bad and things had gone very much downhill, guards or not.

“There’s a helicopter following us.” Sherlock pointed out after a couple of minute’s silence.

“What?” he couldn't... he couldn't be serious, surely.

“Up there, there’s a helicopter, it’s been following us ever since you drove off from Baker Street. Mycroft is still watching, so no doubt John will be here soon, too.” Sherlock sounded _so_ resigned to it, like he knew that this was definitely happening, and there was no stopping it, and no chance of anything else happening.

It had only been a week, and even though there was fight in him, there was still such a deep sense of him having given up. My heart broke for him, and made me suddenly very glad I had made a quick purchase before I had gone to pick him up.

“Shit, well I’ll still try my best to give you a break. John’s still banned from Scotland Yard, and nobody is about to let him up. Even if they do, the office I’ve booked out isn’t on the usual floor, and I booked it under a different name, so we should be safe.” I explained, I had tried to think of everything I possibly could to ensure that Sherlock could have some sort of break today.

“Ah, booked it under Hopkin’s name, not bad.” Sherlock smiled a bit, a flash of his usual self sparking through.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I smiled too, parking up in the garage at the Yard, “Look, if things go tits up here, I want you to have this, as a security measure.” I handed him the burner phone I had bought earlier.

“A burner phone?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so you can, I don't know, get in touch or something, if you need it. You know, if John’s driving you mental and you need out, or if... well, you know.” I didn't want to mention the drugs, even if it was front and centre of my mind.

“Danger night, I know.” Sherlock fiddled with the phone, the look on his face saying he wasn't exactly sure on how to deal with this.

“I’ve got one, too, along with Mrs Hudson and Molly, and we’re all programmed into that one, so if you need _any_ of us, you can get hold of us discreetly.” I needed to know that there was some way or other for Sherlock to contact us, so he wasn't completely alone in that flat with John. I couldn't be round all the time, none of us could, so this was the only way we had. Even if Mycroft could hack the phones, at least it could trip him up a little for a while.

“I don't care what time it is, whether I’m on shift, or _anything,_ if you need me, or any of us, you do not hesitate to text whoever you need. We’ll be right over.” I promised, I wasn't going to let this go, wasn't about to let Sherlock fall through the cracks because of his over controlling brother.

“I... thank you.” Sherlock whispered, pocketing the phone. He looked so young, so shocked, at this, like he hadn’t expected it at all. Like he had never expected me to do something that could help him, or offer any sort of support to him at all.

“Anything for a friend Sherlock, especially _you._ You’re worth more than you think you are.” I clapped him on the shoulder, “Now come on, let’s get upstairs, before someone unwelcome comes along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos!


	107. Chapter 107

106 Sherlock's POV

“Norbury.” I decided, flicking through a file in the blessedly quiet office. If John, or Mycroft for that matter, had caught up with us at Scotland Yard, they hadn’t figured out where we were yet. I’d never been more thankful for Lestrade in my life, or for his choice of room - blinds closed, discreet and without cameras. _Perfect._ Of course, there was no way that Mycroft didn't know where I was, or that John hadn’t noticed that I’d gone, but at least they weren’t _here,_ and couldn't be watching me right now. The respite was a God send, quite frankly.

“Huh?” Lestrade asked, “Was that who killed the victim?”

“No, it was the aunt, in league with the accountant; they were going to split the insurance pay-out. Norbury is what I’ll text you, if there’s a need for it.” I explained. It was an innocent enough word, sounded like the name of a victim, or a killer, it could possibly fly under Mycroft’s radar if he managed to figure out I had means of contacting others. To be honest, I had no idea what he would do if he found that we were working together against him and John, and I didn't particularly want to find out. The man was _obsessed_ with keeping me under control; he wasn't going to tolerate disobedience like this, even when it was for my greater good.

“Ah, so Norbury will mean a danger night, or something like that?” Lestrade seemed to be figuring out if there was some sort of hidden meaning in the word itself.

“Basically, yes. And no, Norbury doesn’t mean anything significant to me. It’s just a word. I could have picked anything.” I scribbled down the solution to the cold case inside the file, moving onto the next one.

The files were helping a little, taking my mind away from what was going on, at least a little bit. My home situation was still spinning through my mind, replaying everything that was going on, but at least I had something else I could try to focus on, too. I could shove at least some of my worry backwards, focus on solving the crime instead. Just like it always had. Crime solving topped everything, created distractions, keeping the need for nicotine and cocaine at bay for the most part.

“Alright, Norbury it is. I’ll tell Molly and Mrs Hudson the next time I see them.” Lestrade smiled gently at me, before going back to going through his own paperwork. He had taken the table to spread out across, meanwhile, I was on the floor, spreading paper and photos across every inch I could. It was working well if I was honest, too.

The company was... not that unwanted, if I was honest. Lestrade wasn't being condescending, or acting like I was in need of help with the most basic of things. He was being protective, and trying to help, while still giving _me_ the option of taking that help. And he wasn't hovering, or forcing conversation, letting us both work in a comfortable silence. I liked it; I liked it a lot, in fact. The companionship was very much appreciated, as was the lack of tension in the room.

“I fancy some lunch and a break, what d’ya fancy?” Lestrade pronounced after another hour, stretching out his back.

“I’m fine.” I wasn't hungry, was, in fact quite interested in this case, someone who had been in two places at once, and in one of those places, had been killed. Interesting, very, very interesting...

“And I’m insisting, Mrs Hudson will bring hell down on me if I don't feed you, so what are you fancying? I’m buying, and getting it, so you don't even have to move.” Lestrade was saying it jokily, but there was a determination underneath it all.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want Mrs Hudson bringing hell down on you, now would we?” I had to smile, too, knowing how dangerous Mrs Hudson actually was, I’d seen her with a gun in the past, she was _lethal_ when she wanted to be, “Get me some chips. Though don't go out to get them, go for the canteen, it’s not as good quality, but it gives Mycroft less of a chance seeing you.” Chips were just about the only perk when you were in a terrible situation.

“Chips it is, I’ll be right back.” Lestrade got up, leaving me alone for a bit.

I had to admit, I sort of missed his company while he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anybody tell I started writing these bits post TST lol?


	108. Chapter 108

107 Sherlock's POV                                       

All things have to come to an end eventually, so when Lestrade’s shift finished, and the time slot allocated to us for this room ran out, we had to leave. I was reluctant to go home, but I couldn't stay out for too long, in case it made Mycroft feel like he had to leave the office to check up on me somehow. I’d do anything to make sure he didn't force himself into my presence; I did not know how I would react to seeing him again, apart from maybe acting on the long awaited need to strangle the man.

“We can go out to dinner, if you want.” Lestrade offered on the way home, seemingly feeling the same way as me.

“No need, Mrs Hudson is cooking.” She was always cooking for me. Never for John, always for me. Every night, without fail.

“Are you sure?” Lestrade asked, “Or maybe I could come up to the flat for a while.”

“That would only make a bad situation worse, trust me when I say it’s best to stay out of the way.” I didn't want to have more arguments today, apart from the hostile morning breakfast; I had had a good day today. I didn't want it ruined by whatever John would do upon seeing Lestrade. It would be sickening to watch John acting like nothing was wrong, and that he and Lestrade were still friends. Let alone anything else he wanted to say.

“Alright then, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, just text me and I’ll be right over.” Lestrade promised, the tone of his voice telling me that he really meant it. In some ways, I was still shocked that he would put himself out like this. That he would actually _care_ enough to go out of his way to give me a way to contact him, and actually mean it when he said that he would come over the minute I needed him.

I hadn’t really had that before. Not even Victor... I mean, he was there when I needed him, especially when all this started, but for years while he had been on mission, it had been impossible to contact him. It was the biggest reason as to why we lost contact in the first place. So, really, there hadn’t been someone who would come the second I called.

But Lestrade was, and I really didn't know what to do with that.

“I, I appreciate the offer, Lestrade.” I did, I really, really did. There was so much loneliness in the house, and so much hate where there wasn't loneliness. Sure Mrs Hudson was a God send, but to have someone put themselves out like this, and actually find ways to let me have some freedom, it was something I greatly appreciated.

“Anything for you kiddo, you know that.” Lestrade patted my knee, “You’ve been through absolute hell, you need someone in your corner. And after everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you.” I whispered, unable to actually look at him, not sure what else to do.

“More than welcome.” Lestrade pulled up near Baker Street, “Though, I guess this is the end of the line for now.” he sighed.

“I guess so. Though you know where I am if you need a case solved, recent or cold.” I would welcome anything he could give me. Even a one on the scale.

“Trust me; you’ll be the first one I call. Or at least pick up.” Lestrade smiled gently at me.

“See if we can outrun John.” I flashed a smile too.

“With that limp? Won’t be too hard.” Lestrade started smirking almost wickedly.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, he’s quick when he wants to be, and the sign of danger will give him a boost.” I said it jokingly, but the truth of it wasn't at all pleasant.

“Well, we’ll give him a good run.” Lestrade tried to joke, too, though his face was shadowed with worry.

“Of course, it’s what we’re good at.” I got out the car, heading towards the alley, a sense of dread growing with every step I took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one, but it felt to leave the chapter there, instead of dragging it out.


	109. Chapter 109

108 John's POV

Sherlock was being unfairly rude, constantly. He never told me where he was going, or what he was doing. He snuck out of the flat and disappeared for hours without word, some days I only knew he had gone because I got an update from Mycroft’s men, telling me where he was heading.

It took every skill I had to follow him, some days, and even then it was a struggle to catch up. The car carrying him sped off too quickly, or he managed to escape, just like he always did. Trying to find Sherlock in London was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, and some days not even Mycroft could find where he went. Luckily, those days were rare. Mostly, he disappeared into Scotland Yard, or to the morgue, places I could catch up in.

Not that I could get into Scotland Yard, apparently I was banned from it. Actually _banned_ from entering. How the _hell_ had Lestrade managed to swing that?! No receptionist, or officer, would let me up! It was ridiculous, it was _me,_ I was Sherlock’s friend, his partner, I should have been allowed up to see him, especially if he was working a case, because that was what we did - work cases together.

What was worse, was that I was slowly being shut out of everywhere else, too. The days I managed to follow Sherlock, I was either treated like an enemy, or was completely ignored. Lestrade wouldn’t chat like we used to, Molly all but ignored me, and Mrs Hudson barely acknowledged my existence, and when she did, it was with the same scorn she usually reserved for some of the less-than-savoury people who used to appear at Baker Street.

“Morning Molly, what have you got for us today?” I didn't stop trying, though, always being polite and considerate to whoever was in the room. I wanted to _scream_ that I wasn't the bad guy in this, but nobody seemed willing to listen. In fact, they weren’t even willing to look at me most days.

Both Sherlock and Molly tensed as I spoke, their conversation about whatever experiment they were performing stopping dead.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Sherlock answered immediately, voice like venom. I hadn’t heard him say anything remotely kind to me in days.

“Are you sure? Looks like you’ve got a pair of lungs there, could be useful to me, as I am a doctor.” I smiled kindly, I may not have been able to gain Sherlock’s trust right now, but maybe I could get Molly. If Sherlock could manipulate her like he did, then surely I could, too. I mean, I was actually _kind_ to her and didn't use compliments like weapons, to get myself into the labs. How hard could it be to win her over?

“I’d believe that if you bothered going to your _job_ every once in a while.” Sherlock’s voice wasn't the only venomous thing, his entire face screamed hatred. So much hatred, he hadn’t even looked at Moriarty like that.

“Well it will be useful when I go back.” I countered, still trying to not sound angry. But it was a hard thing, he wasn’t... I couldn't deal with this shit constantly. No matter what I did, Sherlock would not budge an inch, he was pushing me out of _everything,_ and it was infuriating.

“This has nothing to do with doctors’ diagnoses.” Molly spoke up, both of us turning to look at her.

“Oh, what’s it all about then?” I asked, innocently as I could. Show that I was the kind one, that Sherlock was the one being ridiculous in this situation. Not me, he was just showing off, as he always did, because he didn't get his own way. Couldn't see what was good for him, even when it was right in front of his eyes.

“Can’t say, it’s against hospital policy to talk about on-going experiments with outsiders.” Molly answered, almost without stuttering. She was lying, definitely, without a doubt, lying.

“Ah, come on Molly, it’s me, who am I going to tell?” I tried, she couldn't be shutting me out, too, not mousy Molly, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

“I don't know, hence why I can’t tell you. You’ll have to read about it if we publish the study in a journal.” She was siding with Sherlock, too? Was she _serious?_ The man treated her like crap, always had, always would, and she was siding with _him?_ Damn it all to hell!

“Seriously. It’s _me,_ can’t you let me in, just like you used to?” honestly, what was with everybody?! I was here to _help_ Sherlock, couldn't they see that? I wasn't a bloody bad guy! I was actually being a very nice person in all this!

“No.” Sherlock hissed, just at the same time as Molly said, “We can’t trust who you would talk to.”

“Is that some sort of dig?” who was Molly anymore? She would have _never_ say that to me years ago. Ever! She was always so damn kind, and now she was saying stuff like that to me? Who the hell did she think she was?!

“Possibly.” Molly now started to look a bit nervous.

“Molly, why would you say something like that? We’re friends.” Still had to be tread carefully, I couldn't jeopardise this. Not any further than it already was.

“We were, before we found out that you’re a liar.” Molly answered, ringing her hands.

“Go cry to my brother about it, I’m sure he’ll _love_ to stick his nose in.” Sherlock cut in, “And while you’re at it, get out. You’re not welcome in this lab.”

“Fine, just fine.” I turned to go, “But this isn’t over, you can’t shut me out forever.” I wasn't going anywhere; nobody was going to get rid of me with a few harsh words.

“Watch us.” Sherlock answered, just before I banged the door closed, getting out my phone.

“Mycroft, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have a few more chapters left to write of this fic, AH!


	110. Chapter 110

109 Sherlock's POV

Both Molly and I breathed a sigh of relief as John left, despite hearing the echoes of him calling up my brother. That wouldn’t end well, but at least he was out of the room, for now at least.

“Thanks.” I whispered, trying to shake the feeling of having dodged a bullet for a minute.

“Not a problem.” Molly shrugged it off, like it was nothing.

“No, that, that took courage. John is a hard man to say no to, so, thank you. For standing up to him.” I flashed a smile, truly appreciative of her efforts.

“It’s not so bad when you think of him has a desperate man, fighting a losing battle he doesn’t deserve to win.” Molly smiled too, “Now, shall we get on with this? Before he decides to come back.”

We worked for a couple of hours together, working through every possibility we could think of, until we found the cause of death. When we had told John that we were doing an experiment, we were lying. We were actually trying to find a cause of death for one of the victims in the morgue. Molly had called me, because the body had shown several possible causes of death, and she had wanted my opinion of what was the definitive cause. I had been more than happy to help. I still was, though going home still wasn't sounding like a good idea.

“It was definitely the pneumonia, not the heart disease in the end.” I concluded, “Though, even without it, he would have had a heart attack very soon, thing was pretty much a time bomb.”

“I thought the same, I just wanted to make sure, in case I had missed something.” Molly put the heart back inside the body, before hesitating, “I suppose that means you’ll be going back to Baker Street now.”

“I guess it does.” the thought wasn't pleasant. John, most days, was impossible to deal with, but after today, and our behaviour towards him, I dreaded to think how he was going to be when I got in. There was most probably going to be another shouting match, and if my brother had been phoned, maybe he would be turning up as well. Who knew? And to be honest, did I want to know? Not particularly.

“We could, I don't know, look at some other bodies? See if you can see anything out of the ordinary?” Molly suggested, “Or maybe, erm, dinner? Just as, you know, friends. But it would keep you out of his way for a while longer.”

“It’s nice of you suggest, but I’m fine Molly. I can deal with whatever John can throw at me, he may be one of the most hateful people I have ever met, but I have dealt with worse.” And would quite like to deal with them instead of him, if I were honest. Give me a faceoff with James Moriarty any day of the week, him I could deal with, he provided a puzzle, a distraction. And even when things got dangerous, there was always hope to solve things.

With John, there was no hope. He just stayed where he was, shouted, condescended, and acted like I was the one in the wrong. Tried to win my friends over, too. At least Moriarty didn't keep up the pretence of being Molly’s boyfriend after he revealed himself to us, and didn't try to insinuate himself into my life the way John did.

“I know, but you don't have to deal with this alone.” Molly rung her hands in worry.

“I’ll be fine. I always am.” I was Sherlock Holmes after all, I was always alright. I had survived worse than a bad flatmate and an over controlling brother.  

“Okay, but if you need me, or anyone, you know what to do.” Text them the word ‘norbury’ I knew, I knew well. I hadn’t come close to wanting to use it yet, but I doubted that I would hold off for much longer. The more we shut John out, the more likely it would be that he would get more and more controlling, and who knew how Mycroft would react. If he thought I was playing up too much, I doubted he would hesitate in doing something worse to make sure I was staying in line.

I was saving my ‘norbury’ text for then, for that moment. When things got _far_ too much, and things went absolutely to hell. When I could not take another second of this life, of anything to do with it. Then I would use the text, before as a last ditch attempt to save myself and salvage whatever I could.

If it didn't work, which I doubted it would, well... there was always Plan C. It would be a permanent solution, but at least I’d have some peace and quiet. At least it would all be over. And that was what I really wanted, in all of this; I wanted it to be over. More than anything, I wanted for this to be _over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have caused a bit of confusion in my last end notes. To clarify, I have about 17 more chapters written of this fic, and then I've got a few more chapters to write and then it's done. This story still has a while to go yet, and I'll tell you when it's completely done, and give it a proper chapter count! Sorry for confusing you all!


	111. Chapter 111

110 Mycroft’s POV

It seems I was going to have to step in and... _persuade_ Sherlock’s colleagues to be nicer to John. Their treatment of him was terrible, and honestly just encouraging Sherlock to sulk and act out. It wouldn’t do to let him continue to act like this, or give him encouragement to do so. What was done, was done, and Sherlock couldn't change that. He needed to see that things were going to be the way they were, and nothing was going to change my mind, no matter who tried to stand up and cause trouble.

The first person I decided to focus in on was Mrs Hudson, as she was the person on the front lines, so to speak. She lived at Baker Street, and while she was feeding Sherlock, she was rather rude to John. Peace at home would be a good first step to creating harmony in Sherlock’s life again; these constant arguments were going to cause him too much stress to cope with.

“Mycroft Holmes, what do you think you are doing, kidnapping me in broad daylight like that?” Mrs Hudson didn't sound at all scared, but that was fine, I was sure I could still intimidate her. She was, after all, an old lady. Putting up with my brother was one thing, I, on the other hand, was far worse when I wanted to be.

“This is not a kidnapping; this is more a chance to catch up.” I tried my best smile, hoping that maybe I wouldn’t have to intimidate her. Maybe I could just persuade her to do as I wished, she did care for Sherlock in her own way, she could possibly be brought to see the light through gentle explanation.

“John not telling you everything you want to know, then? That’s a surprise, considering that when he isn’t hounding Sherlock, he’s talking to you on the phone.” Mrs Hudson was very disapproving of that... this could be harder than I first thought.

“John tells me his side of the story; I’d like to hear your side.” Appealing to her gossipy nature usually worked. Mrs Hudson was always regaling everyone who would listen with tales from Baker Street.

“John is a bad flat mate and if I could throw him out, I would. Not that you would let that happen.” Mrs Hudson answered cooly, arms crossed with disapproval.

“All I wish is for Sherlock to be happy, and for that to happen, he needs someone to look after him, all I am doing is providing him with that.” honestly, was it so hard to see that? Couldn’t everyone see that Sherlock was not capable of looking after himself, and needed assistance? Or was everyone blinded by his bravado?

“You took all his happiness away when you took Victor from him; any replacement you try to give him is only going to make him worse. Especially when you give him _John,_ who treats him like he’s a child.” Mrs Hudson looked at me with such distain, my God, why did nobody see the method to my plans? What must it be like to be so ignorant?

“John treats Sherlock exactly as he needs to be treated.” I knew what I was talking about, I knew Sherlock better than _anyone,_ and I knew that he needed someone like John. Victor was a mistake, who pushed too far and didn't know what he was doing, John knew and understood though, he could prevent disaster in my brother’s life. That was what Sherlock needed, disaster prevention, someone to care for him and act as a barrier between him and the world.

“If you believe that, then you are crueller than I ever thought you could be.” Mrs Hudson replied, “Sherlock deserves love and friendship, not a jailer who acts like he needs to have his hand held wherever he goes.”

“Sherlock needs exactly what I am giving him, he isn’t capable of friendship, you should know that by now, after living with him for so long.” Honestly, she really should by now. How often had he ever been open to spending time with people _socially,_ without Victor pushing him into it? How often did Sherlock even _care_ for another human being? He didn't care, he wasn't capable, and didn't want it, either. It was better if he was kept from the danger, so he could keep the life he had.

“What I have learnt from living with Sherlock is that he is one of the kindest men I have ever met, and would do anything for anyone he cares about. I know that he has _four_ friends, all of which he made himself, all of which he cares about _deeply._ I have watched him light up in front of us in _social situations,_ and seen hints of the man he truly wants to be. The man _you_ won’t let him be, all because of some silly little misplaced idea in your head taking over and forcing itself on him. I refuse to be involved in any part of a plan that involves crushing Sherlock’s spirit, and refuse to allow you to get away with it.” that anger... I never thought I’d see something like that from Mrs Hudson of all people.

“If you let me,” I started to say.

“No, you do not get to explain anything, Mycroft Holmes. Because you think you know who Sherlock is, but you are wrong. You try to control him, and act like he is the incapable of making decisions for himself, or even looking after himself, but he isn’t. He is a human being, an _adult_ human being, who is more than capable of anything he puts his mind to, and I won’t let someone like you try to tear him down. So if you want someone’s help in crushing him, look somewhere else, as I won’t be any part of it.” she turned round, walking right out of the building.

“Where are you going?” I asked, as she had walked past the car that brought her here.

“Home, to Sherlock, in a taxi, like a _normal,_ and _free thinking_ person.” Mrs Hudson didn't even look back.

That did not go as I had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and the kudos, you're all awesome!   
> Just a quick thing though, I'm probably not going to update on Friday, as I'm out celebrating my belated birthday with my best friend. If I can in the late evening, I will, if not, I'll post the new chapter on Saturday.


	112. Chapter 112

111 Sherlock's POV

John was looking smug today; I didn't like it when he looked smug. It meant he was up to something, and if he was up to something, then it couldn't be good. I decided to avoid him completely, heading downstairs to Mrs Hudson’s flat, figuring at the least I could get some biscuits out of it, if not some reassurance.

The problem was, Mrs Hudson wasn't in. And she usually was by now. It was Wednesday, Mrs Hudson went shopping on a Wednesday between 10am and 11am, and was always back by 12.30. It was now 1.30pm and she wasn't back yet.

“Mrs Hudson?” I called out, checking the front room, in case she was hoovering to Iron Maiden again, and couldn't hear me. No such luck.

“Mrs Hudson?” I tried again, checking her bedroom, in case she was napping. She wasn't there either. Garden? Empty. 221a? Hadn’t been entered in weeks. Speedy’s? Hadn’t seen her all day.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, no, no, no, no, NO! Where had she gone?! Mycroft couldn't have taken her! He couldn't have taken her too! Please dear God do not tell me that Mrs Hudson was gone too, that Mycroft had taken it upon himself to take away the people who were standing with me in all of this! He couldn't do this again; he couldn't take Mrs Hudson from me! Not Mrs Hudson, anyone but her!

“Lestrade, Mrs Hudson has gone missing, probably thanks to Mycroft. I need you to check all the cameras in the area to find her.” I spoke quickly, using the landline to call the detective inspector, instead of the burner phone, just in case.

“She’s what?” Lestrade answered helpfully.

“She’s not here! She’s gone and I think Mycroft has taken her for some reason. I need you to check all the cameras in the area to see where she went!” I repeated, I couldn't do it myself, not while John was upstairs, checking on me constantly. He was just outside now; I had heard him leaning on the door, probably to listen in. He couldn't physically get inside the flat, the door was locked, but he was just outside and there was nothing I could do to find Mrs Hudson myself!

“Okay, okay, breathe, Sherlock, I’m on it. Try not to panic, I’ll sort this out.” Lestrade started typing on his computer, judging by the tapping sound in the background.

“I’m not panicking!” I wasn't, I really, really wasn't panicking. I was fine, it was Mrs Hudson who was most likely to be in trouble and we needed to _help_ her!

“Course you’re not, that’s why you’re hyperventilating.” Lestrade deadpanned, “We’ll find her, okay? We’ll find where she is and bring her back. Your brother isn’t taking Mrs Hudson from you, too, or anybody else, for that matter.”

There was no guarantee that we’d find Mrs Hudson, Mycroft was clever, knew what he was doing, always knew how to get the better of us all. He could easily hide Mrs Hudson away somewhere, and we would never find her again. But he _couldn't_ do this, not again. He couldn't take Mrs Hudson from me, not my land lady. She was more than my land lady, she was a friend, possibly the closest friend I had. She was like... I felt like some times, she was the mother I had always wanted. He couldn't take her from me! I needed her!

“Oh John, there’s a man outside who wants to talk to you, be a dear and see to him, would you?” a voice outside, a female voice, and the door unlocking.

I rushed to the door, finding Mrs Hudson, who was locking the door behind her, looking perfectly presentable and like nothing was wrong. No bruises, no signs of a struggle. Though, tightness round the eyes, stress. She was stressed. Something had happened.

“Mrs Hudson!” I rushed to her, hugging her close, like it would protect her from the world, “What happened? Where have you been?  Are you alright? Did Mycroft take you?!” I’d kill him; actually murder him if he had.

“He did, but I’m fine, he just wanted a chat.” Mrs Hudson answered, voice muffled by my dressing gown.

“He what? What kind of chat? What did he want?!” it couldn't be good, and must have had something to do with John looking smug, what were they up to?!

“To try and force me to be nicer to John, nothing more.” Mrs Hudson shrugged it off, “He seems to be fearing that we aren’t doing as he wishes, and wants that rectified.”

“He what? Did he threaten you? I swear if he threatened you,” I wouldn’t stand for it, not Mrs Hudson. I didn't care how much she had been through in the past, or how much steel she was made of. I would not allow my brother to threaten her, or anybody else for that matter.

“He didn't threaten me, Sherlock, he tried to be kind, actually, appeal to my more motherly side, and make it sound like it was for the greater good to welcome John.” Mrs Hudson smiled then, “Naturally, I told him where to stick it.”

“You defied Mycroft?” and she was still _standing?_ How the hell did she manage that?

“Of course I did. Your brother is an idiot, and has no idea on what is best for you, or how much that man is hurting you. I’d rather welcome those American’s back in this house than him.” Mrs Hudson shuddered; I knew she was still scared of the American’s who had kept her hostage, looking for The Woman’s phone. It said a lot about her opinion of John if she was saying something like that.

“Thank you.” I whispered, taken aback slightly by her strength of will.

“Anything for you, Sherlock, you know that.” Mrs Hudson stroked my cheek.

“Still, thank you.” I hugged her again, then had a thought, “Was there really someone outside, asking to see John?”

“No, I just sent him outside to talk to my taxi driver. It seems he wants his fee paid; we had an expensive journey after all. And seeing as it was partly John’s fault for the fact that I was so far away from home, I feel it’s only fair that he pays the bill. It’s not like I have an £100 lying around.” Mrs Hudson made me burst out laughing.

“Mrs Hudson, you are the most devious woman I know.” And she was a marvel, a brilliant, fantastic marvel. I wouldn’t replace her for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not totally happy with this chapter, but I sadly haven't had time to rewrite it, so it'll have to do. Sorry about that!


	113. Chapter 113

112 John's POV

I gave Mrs Hudson the benefit of the doubt over the taxi fare, as she had come a long way, but I was sure that she would buck her ideas up soon. No-one disobeyed Mycroft; no-one was that insane. And surely she could see my side of things now, could see just why this was happening, so she’d start helping us again, instead of hindering us in our mission. Mycroft had said that he would explain our motives, and the benefits of my being here, Mrs Hudson always wanted the best for Sherlock, allowing me to be here was the best thing for him, I knew that.

But, apparently she didn't.

That became apparent just the next day, at dinner time. Sherlock had been hostile with me all day, refusing to say even a word to me and going out of his way to get in my way constantly. If I went to make a cup of tea, he suddenly needed the kettle for an experiment. If I wanted to get something to eat, it was already mouldy, or was nowhere to be found. If I wanted to do something as simple as _watch some bloody TV,_ the remote had had its batteries removed, and no other working ones could be found. It was infuriating and incredibly petty, even by Sherlock’s standards, and by the time it reached evening, I was _seconds_ away from having another argument, which was when Mrs Hudson came up.

“Hello Dear, I was wondering if you would like to come down and have dinner with me.” she smiled sweetly, seemingly addressing the room, not just one particular person.

“That sounds wonderful Mrs Hudson; we’ll be down in a minute.” I was grateful for the respite, Sherlock calmed around our landlady considerably; there were less arguments when she was in the room. Probably because she was usually shutting me out completely, or shutting any form of three way conversation down in that passive aggressive tone she usually used on Mycroft.

“Oh, sorry, John, I only made enough for two. You’ll have to make your own meal.” Mrs Hudson continued to smile sweetly, like she was genuinely apologetic. The glint in her eye, and Sherlock’s smirk, said otherwise.

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can stretch it out if needs be.” I also tried to sound like I didn't know what was going on, despite the fact that I did. She hadn’t listened to a word Mycroft had said, and was clearly going to continue acting like I was the devil himself. That... she... what the _hell_ was wrong with her?! Did nothing Mycroft say go in?! Did she even listen?! Did he actually _try_ and get her to listen?!

“Nope, only enough for two I’m afraid. You get used to it, after a while, when there’s only two of you living together. It’s hard to adjust to an interloper.” That thinly veiled insult hurt. How could she be saying things like this? I was only trying to _help_ damn it! Why couldn't she see that? Why was she trying to make things more difficult than they had to be?

So _what_ if Victor had been taken away, he was a bloody bad influence, and was leading Sherlock towards disaster! I wasn't trying to lead him towards anything but a stable life, and if everyone actually played along, maybe we could actually _get_ that, instead of this!

“Alright, maybe next time then.” I had to let it go, or at least act like I did. I had to keep on playing the nice guy, to not start arguments with anyone else. I needed to win over Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, even if I couldn't win over Sherlock, shouting at them wasn't going to help, especially if a talk with Mycroft wasn't working.

“Doubt it, I generally only invite tenants. Speaking of, Sherlock, shall we go?” Mrs Hudson held out her hand to the only person who hadn’t spoken yet, apparently having taken great joy in watching our conversation.

“With pleasure, wouldn’t want to eat cold food, now would we?” Sherlock took her hand, the two walking out the door together, already deep in conversation, like I wasn't even there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments and the encouragement, it makes my day to see how enthusiastic you all are about this fic!


	114. Chapter 114

113 Sherlock’s POV

“Have fun?” John asked, making it sound like an insult.

“Jealous?” I glared back, I had actually. I had had a _nice_ conversation with Mrs Hudson, and a nice roast dinner, followed by her apple and cinnamon cake. It had been the perfect reprieve from being _here,_ under the watchful eye of John Watson.

“No, just disappointed. You know it’s not polite to exclude someone from a meal, especially when you live with them.” John answered, anger seething under his cool tone. His knuckles were white around his fork.

“Didn’t realise it was rude, considering you decided to force a person away from this house, to get your own way.” It wasn't even a low blow to say it, and it didn't seem to affect John anyway, he didn't even flinch.

“Victor was never going to stay, you know that. I’m the only person who can stand you enough to live with you full time.” John always said that, always made it sound like he was a _saint_ for staying, for being here all the time. He was anything but a saint.

“Shame no-one here can stand _you_ for more than a second. Noticed how much anger you cause just by walking into a room recently?” I shot back, throwing back his hypocrisy. I refused to believe his words, to give into his lies, no matter how many times he said them. They were a fantasy, _I_ knew the truth.

“Well maybe if _you_ bothered to treat me like a human being, then we wouldn’t have this problem.” John glared right back.

“I don't think I’m the one having problems with treating others like human beings.” If _anyone_ around here was being treated like an animal, it was me. I was the one constantly followed, the one treated like I had no free will, like some sort of animal in a cage, _not_ John. He was my keeper; I was the animal in the cage.

I cut the conversation off there, before it escalated, locking myself in my room for some peace. But it still wasn't peaceful to be in here either. It wasn't peaceful to be anywhere really. Everything felt wrong nowadays, like everything I did was watched, and whatever I did was being disapproved of. And with the disapproval, came changes to my life.

Mycroft was already taking my friends to ‘chat’ with them about how to treat John, as well as how this was all _good_ for me. What else would he do? His options were limitless; he could do anything he wanted. _Anything._

And anything, he did do. He took Lestrade and Molly for talks; too, they both rejected his attempts, so he decided they couldn't be trusted to be alone with me. Soon, I was tailed everywhere I went. Mycroft’s minions, and John if he could keep up, followed me every time I left the house. John hovered over lab sessions at Bart’s, wouldn’t let me leave to go down to Mrs Hudson’s, or forced himself into the flat too, he followed me to crime scenes. Hell, he even managed to find out the system Lestrade was using to book rooms for the two of us to sit in together, so he always turned up there, too. Anyone hanging around just let him in, because they knew of his connection to me.

Nowhere was safe. John was there constantly now. Watching over me, reminding me that I wasn't free anymore, that I never had been. He was always watching, always monitoring, always making sure I was kept ‘in check’ and out of trouble. It was his sole purpose now, all his did was follow me, and make sure I was never alone with my actual friends. I couldn’t escape, couldn't talk things through with anyone, had no-one to turn to without _him_ being there.

My world was starting to close in, my options becoming more and more limited as time went on. I started counting myself lucky if I got more than a few days to myself, my only comfort being the burner phone, the one I kept on me constantly. It was my only chance of communication with the outside world, and while I never used it, scared of discovery, it was a comfort, to have it close. Even if there was nothing my friends could do in a ‘Norbury’ situation, at least I had the _option_ to call them for help. I had that option, and not many others, I had to cling to it. If not just to keep the thought of cocaine at bay. All I wanted a hit, one last hit, one last high, to make it all go away. I could make everything go away with a big enough hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments!


	115. Chapter 115

114 Lestrade's POV

Mycroft tried to talk to me, as well as Molly, and it did nothing for any of us. We all refused to accept Mycroft’s explanations, or bow to his wishes, even when he tried to threaten us. But he had no _real_ power in this situation, if he got either Molly or me fired, who would give Sherlock cases, or access to the labs at Bart’s? No-one, and we _all_ knew that while Mycroft liked to take over Sherlock’s life and change it to his specifications, he wasn't about to take cases away from his brother, he wouldn’t _dare_ it.

So, with a smirk, I told him where to stick it, went home, and carried on like normal. Which meant keeping John away from Sherlock as best as I could, which was getting harder, especially at crime scenes.

John liked to follow us in a taxi, and now one of Mycroft’s cars, seeing as he could never get into the same car as Sherlock, and then stroll onto a scene like he owned the place. Donovan and Anderson had been shocked at first, but they soon learnt to keep their mouths shut, because I had the power to send them off the case, and into more sensitivity training. No-one liked repeatedly going to sensitivity training.

Today was no different, Sherlock got out of my car, and not thirty seconds later, John got out of his own blacked out car, acting like there was nothing wrong. Though, his hands were balled into fists, someone was already angry. Good. He didn't deserve to have it easy, if Sherlock was suffering, then he should suffer ten times more.

“Sorry, no civilians on the scene.” I stopped John ducking under the tape with a hand.

“Oh come on, Greg, don’t be ridiculous, you know I’m not _just_ a civilian.” John tried to appeal to my kinder side, the side that had been friends with him. Key word here - _had_ been friends with him.

“Nope, sorry, consultants only. _You’re_ not on our lists, and I haven’t approved you. So if you want to look, stay _behind_ the tape.” I pushed him back, “Don’t let him on the scene, officer.” I told the woman on guard, she nodded in response. Thank God Donovan wasn't here yet, so she couldn't let him in like she always did.

“What have you got for us, Sherlock?” I asked, going over to my friend, clapping him on the back.

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered, giving me a small smile, full of gratitude.

“No worries, can’t have you distracted by an idiot, now can we?” I made sure John heard that, over the top of his protests to the officer in front of him.

“Greg, come on! Let me on the bloody scene! I’m Sherlock’s partner!” John was calling, trying to dodge round the officer; she wasn't having any of it, luckily.

“Partner to my brother more like.” Sherlock grumbled, “Victim seemingly had their neck snapped, but that’s not the case, not really. If you look closer, there’s track marks on their arms, so they’re a heavy drug user. Judging by the neighbourhood, their killer should most likely to be a drug addict too, addicts aren’t exactly known for their strength. Sure there’s exceptions, but no, most likely, the killer isn’t an addict. It’s been made to look like the victim was killed here, but they weren’t. It’s a cover up.” he summed up, eyes turning analytical, not so full of stress, and, I suspect, fear.

“Great, I thought the same, but wanted a second opinion.” Well, that and to give Sherlock a few minutes of distraction if it was possible. I wasn't doing well, but at least he could focus on a murder.

A murder of a drug addict, in an addict neighbourhood... _shit._

“I’m fine, Lestrade.” Sherlock whispered, as more cars pulled up, and I knew _exactly_ who it was, because it was _just_ what Sherlock needed right now.

“Sorry we’re late, boss, we got lost, where do you need us?” Donovan’s voice made Sherlock tense, his face closing off into the mask he always wore nowadays.

“Search the perimeter; we’re looking for evidence that proves the body was moved here, as part of a cover up.” I ordered, wanting the two of them far away from here.

“Wouldn’t it be better to be looking at the body, send the freak out to find that evidence? He’s more likely to pull something out of his arse.” Anderson grumbled, already hauling equipment out of the van. Sherlock held in a flinch.

“What, and let him loose in a bloody a drug den? He’d be too busy trying out what was on offer than actually getting on with the investigation.” Donovan glared at Sherlock’s back, even I flinched at that. If only she knew what Sherlock was going through, that it was on my mind _constantly,_ that it was a genuine concern. So much a concern that I was sure if it wasn't for Mycroft’s constant guard vigil, Sherlock would be back on the drugs in a heartbeat.

“Then again, that’s what John's here for, right? Keep the bloodhound away from the goods so he can be _brilliant,_ ” she spat the word like it was something awful, “What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside _assisting_ or something?”

“John is currently _under review,_ as he left for several months. He’s not allowed back in until he’s been approved.” I countered, _hating_ that I had to lie, but if Anderson or Donovan found out the truth, the constant arguing would never end. If they knew what was going on, God, Sherlock would never, ever hear anything else from them, they would taunt him forever, and break his heart.

“Which means he’s staying _out_ of the scene, and staying there, and not being any part of this investigation.” Sherlock hissed, _glaring_ at the three of them, his day-to-day torturers, so much hatred burning in them.

“For now! It’ll all be fixed soon, probably could be with a phone call to Mycroft.” John shot back, smirking at Sherlock. Manipulative bastard.

“Let’s go through official channels for once, so no-one has to moan about anything. Now, back to the crime scene at hand. Anderson, Donovan, go looking for evidence around the area, John stay where you are, Sherlock anything else you can give me?” I had to maintain the scene, keep everybody occupied and out the way of each other. But it was so _hard,_ especially when Sherlock wasn't even shouting abuse back to make others shut up. He hadn’t for a while, he just... was giving up, I guess. He wasn't fighting, he was allowing the abuse to be hurled at him, like he was getting so used to it, and had resigned himself to it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos!


	116. Chapter 116

115 Sherlock's POV

I couldn't stand being here, even with a good distraction staring me in the face. It was all so... I knew _exactly_ who else was here, could hear their complaints, could feel John’s gaze on me from behind. I’d pay for Lestrade’s orders later, knew deep down that John was _not_ going to be happy that he’d been denied access again. It couldn't last forever, either, he only had to phone Mycroft, and he would instantly gain access to wherever he wanted to do, and then there would be nothing to stop him walking into whatever room I was in, and I would never be able to escape again.

“Sherlock, have I told you about our new sergeant, who’s going to be transferring soon? She’s called Norbury, and she’s coming over soon for a meeting, to see if she’s good for us. Do you want to meet her, too, see if she’ll be a good fit for the team?” Lestrade asked, giving me a look filled with meaning. _Just say yes and I’ll get you out of here._

“No, it’s fine. She’ll be just as useless as everyone else.” There was no point trying to escape anywhere, John would just follow, and if he couldn't, no doubt there would be orders for helicopters to trace where I was. Mycroft had done it before; he would do it again, in a heartbeat.

“Alright, you sure? I’ve heard she’s transferring from the drugs squad, could be useful, at least for this case.” Ah, he was also enquiring about _that_ too.

“I said it’s fine, I’ll meet her if the situation calls for it. Right now, I’d like to focus on the case.” I was _fine,_ despite the situation, despite the location. I would be _fine._ It was just a crime scene, like any other. One surrounded by hostile people, including two people who truly hated my guts and made sure I knew it, and my jailer, who was starting to look bored so far away from the action.

“Hey, if Sherlock’s done looking here, maybe we should get the body to the morgue, run some tests there, see if that brings up any clues while you guys look for evidence here.” John called out, like I expected him to. He wanted to get closer, to get me away from the temptation of drugs, probably under big brothers strict orders to keep me _far_ away from it all.

Well if only they knew just how _tempted_ I was starting to feel. I knew _exactly_ where to go to score the best 7% solution. If I knew I could slip away discreetly, I would have by now. Wouldn’t have shot up yet, though, would have kept it, waiting for when things got too much. When I really couldn't take it anymore.

Everyone thought I’d shoot up the first chance I got, and while that was tempting, it wasn't worth that fall out. Oh no, I’d bide my time, keep whatever I could get my hands on as a failsafe. Ready to use when the time came. When the arguments got too much, when the noose tightened too hard around my neck. Then I’d use it, and nobody would be able to stop me.

But nobody was letting me out of their sight. I doubted that between Lestrade and John, I hadn’t had a pair of eyes stuck on me since we got here, and if Mycroft caught wind of this, he would swoop on me like a hawk, grabbing me up and sweeping me away before I had the chance to even _think_ about slipping away for a minute. He was always so _against_ the drugs, despite the fact that they gave him exactly what he wanted - me, docile and quiet. In one place and out of trouble. You’d think he’d want that, but apparently not. Bastard couldn't let me have any sort of release from his control.

“Alright, good plan. Let’s get this body packed up and to the morgue. John, you go in the van with the body, I’ll drive us two to the hospital.” Lestrade ordered, I had to admit, I appreciated his diligence in keeping John and I separated as best as possible.

“Why can’t Sherlock ride with the body, or you for that matter?” John asked, acting innocent.

“My car’s here, and you’re the doctor. Do the math.” Lestrade shrugged, not giving him time to argue as he bundled us both in the car and drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, it keeps me going on the tough weeks where the words don't want to come out right, like they are now!


	117. Chapter 117

116 Sherlock's POV

“So, while John’s busy at the morgue, shall we go back to the station and review what we have so far?” Lestrade asked as he drove, John’s glare getting smaller in the rear view mirror.

“We don't have much to be going on right now, just photos.” And photos weren’t useful.

“Yeah, but it’d be out of the way of everyone else. You look like you could do with some peace.” Lestrade glanced at me, that worried look still on his face. He’d been looking at me worriedly since we started driving towards the crime scene, now it was getting worse.

“I’m fine, and we probably shouldn’t leave Molly alone with John either. Mycroft is one thing; John on the other hand is an entirely different threat.” While going for the same cause, Mycroft and John had very different methods in getting their way. And I was starting to doubt whether John could keep up the ‘nice’ pretence in front of the others, if he didn't start getting his own way soon.

“Good point, alright, we’ll go to the morgue.” Lestrade sighed, then paused for a second, “Hey, I’m sorry about Donovan and Anderson. I do try and get them to shut it, but they are determined to keep up the antagonism, no matter what I do to them.”

“It’s alright, Lestrade, they’re not exactly my worst worry right now.” I sighed right back, knowing that they _really_ weren’t. Their words were nothing compared to what I faced at home. And at least with them, I knew I wouldn’t be told that everything going on was for my own good, or that I wasn't capable of anything... well, apart from feeling any sort of emotion.

“I understand, but still, can’t be easy dealing with it. You sure you’re alright? You’re starting to look a bit... pasty.” Lestrade asked, still glancing at me whenever he could.

“I’m fine, Lestrade, and I’ll continue to _be_ fine too. It’s my only choice.” I looked out the window, noticing a helicopter above us. It was following our car. Perfect.

“Please don't tell me your brother’s employing _helicopters_ now to spy on you.” Lestrade growled, hands tightening on the steering well.

“It would appear so.” of course he was, I went near _drugs,_ and I wouldn’t stop trying to escape his minions grasp, of course that signalled to Mycroft that he needed to employ expensive equipment to follow me around, to make sure I couldn't outrun his watchful eye.

“Bloody hell, is there anything he _won’t_ do?!” Lestrade seemed to be in disbelief, surely he knew by now that my brother would stop at _nothing_ to keep me under control.

“Essentially, no, he won’t. And it’s not a recent thing, either.” I remembered the days when he used to send helicopters out after me constantly. Though, I was high at the time, so there may have been some need, I guess.

“Did you ever manage to get rid of them, then?” Lestrade asked.

“No, used to drive him mental with them, though.” I caught Lestrade’s questioning look, “I used to walk around London, making up sentences as I went. Or at least phrases. Generally swear words if I’m honest.”

“Really? Like what? Any way we can do it with the car?” Lestrade’s facial expression turned slightly evil.

“No, sadly the streets don't let you spell the words ‘fuck off’ if you’re in a car.” Believe me, I had tried, “You can spell out ‘twat’ ‘arsehole’ and ‘go away’ though, but they’re not as affective in pissing him off.”

“You’ll have to teach me the root, so I can do it the next time he has me followed.” Lestrade smiled, I did, too, just imagining my brother’s face if all of us starting sending him silent messages through CCTV.

“With pleasure.” There wasn't much I could do to stop this from happening, but at the least, I could have _some_ fun with it.

Eventually, the fun stopped, as did the talk of fun, as we had gotten to the morgue. And John was already inside. Luckily not with Molly, but he was still there, and he _really_ didn't look happy to have been made to stay with the body, instead of with me.

“Have fun?” I smirked, taking a small pleasure in his annoyance.

“Whatever, just get on with it.” John growled back, I’d pay for it later, but damn it I couldn't help but want to wind him up more.

“That’s no way to speak to our consultant. He’s needs to take his time, wouldn’t want any sort of problems with the analysis, would we?” Lestrade reprimanded him, in a jokey tone, but filled with meaning. John bristled at his words.

“Oh like he can’t tell from a _glance_ what needs to be done. He’s clever enough for _that_ at least.” John shot me a glare.

“Yes, and I’m also clever enough to solve this case, probably without having to leave this room. Sorry John, no chance for that limp to be cured _this_ time, either.” I had made sure of it, every case we went on, we _never_ did the chasing. And if it was needed, I went alone, and forced John to catch up later. He never made it in time to do the _fun_ bit where he got to play with his gun. Shame, that. The limp was _persistent_ this time around.

John’s hand tightened around his cane, but he said nothing, probably not to make a scene. But underneath it, he was seething with rage; it was ready to boil over at any second. I knew for a fact that this would end in a _huge_ argument later, and probably with more things being taken from me, but right now I didn't care. _I_ was annoying him, _I_ was pushing him away, _I_ was making sure he didn't win. _And_ my _friends_ were helping. None of us were letting him get away with this; he was screwed in that sense. He may have been having an effect on me, but he wasn't on everyone else, and that meant we were winning. Even though it was terrible to live through, I took comfort in the fact that we were winning, even if it was just for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and the kudos, I've had a stressful week, your comments help a lot!


	118. Chapter 118

117 John's POV

Was it too much to ask to be given a _little_ bit of respect, just the _tiniest_ bit of respect around here?! I was working _hard_ at being Sherlock’s carer and making sure he remained alive and well, and all I was getting in return was sly mocking words and conversations that seemed fine on the surface, but were cruel when thought about.

Couldn't anybody see what I was doing here? Couldn't they see that all of this was for Sherlock’s own good? Or were they truly so blind as to think that he was _fine_ by himself, or with _Victor_ of all people? My God, I’d thought them all cleverer than that. Especially when they used to be _so_ grateful that I had turned up and mellowed out their crime solver, so they could actually stand him. I didn't see anybody else trying to smooth things over when he was obnoxious again, or keeping him from the drugs, or in fact doing _anything_ to keep him on the straight and narrow. I deserved recognition for that; at the very least I deserved _some_ recognition for that.

But sadly, no-one else saw it that way, and they continued to be rude. Even _Molly_ was being mean, even if it was in her own stuttering way. How the hell had Mycroft not even gotten to _Molly_ of all people?! She was Molly! You just had to raise your voice slightly and she rolled over, how had Mycroft Holmes of all people not managed to get her on side? Jesus Christ what had Victor done to make everyone so bloody stubborn?!

Well, I wasn't letting them get away with it; I wasn't going away any time soon. And I certainly wasn't going to let them win in this, either, no way in hell. They could be as cruel as they wished, I wasn't going to be pushed out, I was going to follow Sherlock every single place he went, without fail.

It was tough work, but I managed it throughout the entire case, even when Sherlock deliberately didn't tell me anything about where he was going. It took fast reflexes, but I was soon running to keep up with him, practically forgetting my cane a few times. It was exhilarating, to be back running again, even without the need of my gun. Though it was always tucked into the back of my jeans, always there in case it was needed.

Sherlock got visibly annoyed, but it served him right. He was disrespecting me, and letting everyone else do it, too. I was his _partner;_ he couldn't just treat me like dirt because he was in a situation he didn't like. We all had to deal with situations we didn't like, hell he’d put _me_ through one recently, we just had to grin and bear it, until we were used to it, or until things changed. For me, things changed so we were in this situation instead, for Sherlock, things weren’t going to change again. He was stuck with me from now.

“We’ve finished the case, you can stop following me now.” he told me once we got home, and I was still hot on his heels.

“Can’t have you sneaking off again though, now can we? You were close to drugs this entire case, let’s not tempt fate.” I had a reasonable excuse here, Sherlock shouldn’t be alone after a drugs case, it was always best to be safe than sorry, in case he felt the call to the drugs again.

“Stop tempting fate then by leaving me alone.” Sherlock hissed, attempting to slam his bedroom door in my face, I was prepared, and caught it first, stepping inside anyway.

“You keep on saying that, yet every chance you get; you go running to somebody else. I think you _want_ the company.” I countered, honestly, he was clearly lonely, and I was right here, he may as well have accepted that by now and actually tried to hang out every once in a while.

“I want your company like I want brain damage.” Sherlock grumbled, half under his breath.

“Yeah well, can’t be helped what we’re born with.” I shrugged it off, honestly, he should know by now that his defects couldn't be cured, and that he needed caring for. It was for his own good in the end, he had to see that soon.

Sherlock bristled, but said nothing, instead storming into the shower. And I didn't need to see _that,_ so headed into the front room for the evening. There was a guard outside the outside stair case anyway; he couldn't escape out to see anybody else. So if he wanted company, he would have to deal with _me_ from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments/kudos. Just a small thing, I may end up missing a few chapters over the next two weeks, as I've got a lot going on. I've got my last 4 assignments to upload, a dissertation to finish and upload, several other busy days in between, and after I've uploaded the dissertation I have to go and look for a job, so I'm going to be a bit all over the place. If I miss a chapter, I'll apologise now, and I'll make up for it later!


	119. Chapter 119

118 Sherlock's POV

Too soon, John was granted access to crime scenes, given _full_ access _everywhere,_ even Barts. I couldn't escape him, he was _everywhere,_ like a shadow, a constant presence, everywhere I went. His eyes were always on me, glaring holes into the back of my skull. His words stung every time he opened his mouth, poison dripping from it. Even the old compliments started to sound condescending, if not, they were threats. Even if public, he couldn't stop the subtle threats.

\--

**_“Wow Sherlock, that was incredible,_ no-one _else could have figured_ that _out.”_**

**_“Hey, let us into your head for a change, instead of acting like you’re above it all!”_ **

**_“He’s such a drama queen, but hey, that flare keeps things interesting. And if things do get out of control, I’m always there to clean up the mess.”_ **

**_\--_ **

I was constantly on edge, feeling my skin tighten around my muscles every time he opened his mouth. Some days, it was all I could do to escape the noise of him, using all of my best knowledge to out run him for _five minutes_ of peace. Just _five_ minutes, that was all I wanted. And most of the time I couldn't even get that, because even if I managed to out run John, I never managed to out run Mycroft’s men.

They were _everywhere,_ following behind me no matter where I went. One was stationed at every bolt hole I had ever stayed in, the one in the alley beside Baker Street only left when I did, several had been placed at Scotland Yard and Barts. There was _nowhere_ I could run, there was _nowhere left_ to run, everywhere was covered. Nowhere was safe, nowhere was quiet, I was hunted everywhere I went.

I felt like screaming, like crying out and _screaming,_ until someone made it all _stop._ To make all the bad things go away and _leave me alone._ Everything was so loud and so close, peace didn't exist anymore. All my safe places had been invaded; I couldn't go anywhere to get my brain to shut down, to escape the taunts and the staring eyes. But I couldn't carry on like this; I _couldn't_ keep on doing this. I was going to lose it, actually break down and _lose it_ if I didn't find peace soon. I wouldn’t care for the consequences, wouldn’t care about _anything,_ I had my old dealers numbers memorised, and I had a burner phone, I’d call them, I’d arrange _something_ and I’d get some damn drugs and send myself into oblivion. I would, I would do it in a heartbeat soon if things did not _shut up_ and _go away_ soon.

“Sherlock, Sherlock, it’s okay, come here, it’s alright now.” Mrs Hudson’s voice broke through, her hands on my shoulders, which were shaking violently.

“N-Norbury, Norbury.” It was danger night, I couldn't deal with it, everything was so loud and too close for comfort, I couldn't deal with it anymore. I couldn't deal with the shouting or the fighting or the eyes the constant eyes or anything it had to stop it had to stop before I went insane or got hold of drugs because I wanted them I really really wanted them and I’d get them because I needed them but I couldn't have them because Victor would be upset and I couldn't upset Victor but he wasn't here anymore and I wanted him here I wanted him here I wanted-

“Shh, shh, come on dear, let’s get you sat down before you collapse.” Hands guided me to the sofa, not my sofa though, not my flat, either. Familiar, though, so familiar. Safer.

Curtains across a rail, the room dimmed, the sound of the TV quietening to a faint murmur, hands back on my shoulders, encouraging me to lie against a thin body. Quiet reigned, only faint whispers from two clear places, both kind and soft, not dangerous at all. Just kind. So very kind.

“That’s it, that’s it, Sherlock, breathe deeply for me. Breathe. You’re doing brilliantly, dear, just keep going, shhh.” Mrs Hudson again, hand running through my hair, allowing my own to cling to her shirt as I shook against her. I couldn't stop shaking, could barely control my breathing enough to follow her instructions, I didn't even understand how I got down here, to 221a. It was all a blur, a blur of stress and pain and _need_ , and poison eyes following me everywhere. Poison eyes that weren’t here right now.

“He’s not here, Sherlock, no-one is, apart from you and me. You’re safe here; you’ll always be safe here.” Mrs Hudson whispered, so gentle with me still, calm as ever. Always so calm when I needed her.

“T-Thank you, thank you.” I couldn’t do this, not anymore, not alone. But I was so alone, even with her here, I was still so painfully alone, and I had no idea on how to fix it. I wanted to escape, but I couldn't, wasn't allowed, even if I was, the consequences... I shuddered to think of the consequences.

“Shh, shh, no need to thank me. Just focus on breathing for now. Breathing, and calming down.” I, I could do that. I think. I could do that. I could definitely do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for understanding, the future is currently very stressful, and very uncertain, due to the fact that I have no idea when I'll be getting a job, and with that I have no idea how much time I'll have afterwards. I'll keep you all updated, but currently I'm just trying to get through the next few weeks, once I get my dissertation in, I'm free to get some proper writing done again!


	120. Chapter 120

119 Sherlock's POV

I don't know how long I spent shivering in Mrs Hudson’s arms, but eventually, slowly, I calmed down just enough to breathe and think straight.

“Better now?” Mrs Hudson asked, still running her fingers through my curls soothingly.

“I, I think so.” I still felt shaky, but my skin didn't feel as tight, my chest not so constricted. It was better than it was.

“Do you need me to phone Lestrade or Molly for anything?” she continued, gently pulling me back to lean on her as I tried to sit up.

“No, no, it’s fine.” I didn't need them, didn't need a huge fuss to be made, it would only get my nerves back again. The quiet was what I needed, and one kind presence, that was all.

“Are you sure? I can phone them if you need them, you did just call Norbury.” Mrs Hudson sounded sceptical.

“Sure. I was panicking, I’m back in control.” I had just needed quiet, and reassurance, and that was what I had gotten. I didn't need anything else, I was sure of that.

“Alright, if you say so.” Mrs Hudson didn't look convinced, but let it go, reaching for her phone instead, calling Mrs Turner, judging by the screen, “Hello Peg, I won’t be making it tonight I’m afraid, something’s come up, I’ll be round for a catch up later in the week instead.” With that, she hung up. I’d forgotten it was Tuesday, Mrs Turner next door always had an afternoon tea type set up, and Mrs Hudson always went, along with several other friends of hers. She always looked forward to going, if not just to show off her baking skills to the others.

“You can go, if you want. I should be going back upstairs anyway, before John breaks down the door and drags me back up there.” I sighed, not wanting to make Mrs Hudson lose time with her friends, or cause more trouble than I was already facing. I’d managed to slip John and the guards long enough to get in here; having had enough of their constant surveillance, managing to escape never went well, even when I was just in Mrs Hudson’s flat.

“You’ll do no such thing young man, not in the state you’re in! You’re staying right here with me for at least the rest of the day, if not overnight.” Mrs Hudson fixed me with such a stern look; I knew I wouldn’t be getting out of it any time soon.

“I’m not in a state.” I wasn't, really, I was doing just fine!        

“And John’s a perfectly reasonable man.” She deadpanned, “Sherlock you just had a panic attack, and used Norbury for the first time, that is _serious._ You’ve been put under tremendous stress, stress that would drive anybody else insane. For you to be calling Norbury on me means that you’ve been pushed too far, and are now creeping towards a danger night, and if you think for one second that I’m going to leave you on a danger night, you have another thing coming.” She was so serious; I knew she meant business right there and then.

“But you’ll miss out on seeing your friends.” I argued weakly, I really didn't want to ruin her plans. I knew what it was like to have plans ripped apart, to be taken from people you cared about; I didn't want Mrs Hudson to miss out on seeing people she cared about.

“I’ll see them later in the week, or next week if needs be. A week isn’t going to make much difference to me, especially when I’m still spending time with someone I care about.” She reached up, a hand stroking my cheek, “Besides which, they only want to talk about how well their children are doing, see if they can one up each other, it gets quite boring after a while.”

“It must be hard, to hear them talk about children.” Mrs Hudson didn't have any, her husband had never wanted any, and to be honest, it was probably a good thing, considering who he was.

“Not at all, I give them much better stories about you.” She smiled proudly, I didn't know what to say to that, “And yes, before you ask, I do talk about you, a lot in fact. I tell them all about your adventures, your experiments, your beautiful violin playing; they can’t match that, not in the slightest.”

“Why? I’m not... I’m just your tenant.” I really didn't know what to say, _really_ did not know.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything Sherlock, you’re my friend, first and foremost, and someone I care very deeply about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouragement with my dissertation and job hunting!


	121. Chapter 121

120 Sherlock's POV

Mrs Hudson didn't complain once as I heaved in breath, trying desperately to keep calm. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, holding me tight, whispering reassurances like a mother would. And, it really, really helped. Eventually, I managed to calm down, to feel like there was a small amount of breathing space again, not like I needed to escape and find the nearest dealer this second, screw the consequences.

“Better now?” Mrs Hudson asked, after a few minutes of quiet. I nodded, not feeling ready to speak yet; I was still shaky, not feeling all too good at all.

“Good, now, mind telling me what happened to cause this?” she continued, hand still stroking my hair with such regularity and consistency, I could tell exactly where her hand was going to land, how far it was going to go, and for how long. It was so relaxing, and exactly what Victor had started doing, when he found out about my problems.

“Not, not really.” I really didn't want to talk about it, wanted to hide in this small place of comfort, pretend that this was utterly normal.

“Are you sure, dear? You did use Norbury, so it must have been serious.” Mrs Hudson sounded incredibly concerned.

“It was the usual; it just got a bit much today, that’s all.” Today hadn’t been special in any way. I just, everything had felt a bit too overwhelming for so long, today just happened to push me too far.

“I suppose it was going to happen at some point. All that time spent under constant surveillance is enough to send anyone around the bend, and the scale your brother has put you on must feel like you’re being suffocated.” Oh she had _no_ idea how suffocating it was. Even without the constant eyes on me, the tension in every room racketed up the second John arrived, even when it was just the two of us, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I could have been at a crime scene in the middle of Trafalgar Square and still wouldn’t have been able to breathe right.

“I can’t even smoke without being watched.” I whispered, I really wasn't exaggerating, either. I didn't even sit on the fire escape stairs anymore to smoke, thanks to the agent underneath them, his eagle eyes staring at me like I was some sort of freak show exhibit, monitoring my every move, waiting for me to do something bad to report back to my brother with. Not even flicking the butts at him put him off; he’d started wrapping himself in a fireproof blanket, and simply stepped out of the way when I flicked them down, facial expression never changing, eyes never leaving my face.

“You poor boy,” Mrs Hudson sighed, “Well you’re welcome in my flat, whenever you want. Even when I’m not in, you’ve got a key, so just let yourself in.”

“Thank you.” I didn't mention that it wouldn’t work, that I rarely managed to get in here, and even when I did, John would still be on the other side of the door, waiting to get back inside. If he wasn't trying to win over Mrs Hudson, I was sure he would just pick the lock and walk in like he owned the place.

“Anything you need, Sherlock, you know that. And I’m sure the same idea goes for Lestrade and Molly, too, I’m sure they’ll let you use their places as a hide out if you need them.” Mrs Hudson smiled gently, again, I didn't mention that the locks would be picked, or my jailer would be waiting outside either way, along with anyone else who was part of the ‘eyes on Sherlock’ team, “Doesn’t Victor also have a flat in London? Could you possibly hide there some times? I wouldn’t like the idea of you hiding out there by yourself, but it could give you a little bit of peace when you need it.”

“Sadly not, Mycroft probably has the place surrounded, under complete lock and key. There’s no way in hell I’ll get in there.” I wasn't even going to _try,_ what would the point be? Mycroft had thought of everything, there was no way that Victor’s flat wasn't supervised constantly, I wouldn’t get in there even with all the luck in the world.

And anyway, why would I never want to go to Victor’s flat by myself? Why would I _ever_ go anywhere near Victor’s flat when he wasn't there? It would just be a reminder of him, and the fact that he wasn't here anymore, that I wasn't going to see him again.

“Your brother truly thought of everything, didn't he?” I nodded at the question, “Oh Sherlock.” Mrs Hudson’s hands tightened around me, “I’m so sorry that this has all happened to you, you don't deserve it.”

“Try telling my brother that.” I mumbled.

“I will the next time I see him. Don’t think he won’t be getting an earful from me about his behaviour.” Mrs Hudson was so determined; I had no doubt she would.

“You sound like our mother.” I smiled, just imagining Mrs Hudson making Mycroft cower from her tirade; our mother had been very good at that. The look on his face when she shouted at him for convincing me of being a robot as a child was priceless, it had almost made the whole thing worth it at that age.

“Good, because someone needs to be a mother figure to you, seeing as yours seems to be doing absolutely nothing to stop your brother from being horrible.” Mrs Hudson was usually quite fond of my mother; they talked on occasion, in fact. Mummy appreciated that someone was looking after me, and Mrs Hudson liked to assuage her fears about my wellbeing.

Thinking of it, those phone calls had stopped almost entirely as of late...

“Mummy is fiercely protective of me, and has always made sure Mycroft was in charge of my affairs. She seemed to think that that he had more of an idea on how to handle me.” I shrugged, used to it. Mummy and Daddy cared in their own ways, but they didn't understand much about me, and always seemed to think that any attempt at letting me be myself would end in disaster. As I got older, and Mycroft got more powerful, they preferred to let him do most of the controlling in my life, especially as they thought that we had some sort of ‘bond’ thanks to our intelligence.

“For a family of such intelligent people, your family sure are stupid.” Mrs Hudson sighed, “At least you still have us, and will always have us. Lestrade, Molly and me will _always_ be here for you, and understand you more than most. No matter what happens, we’ll be here to support you, and love you, exactly as you are.”

If only I could believe that. They could have all the intentions they wished to have, but if my brother decided that they were a bad influence on me, then they’d be taken to. Of that I was certain. No matter what ‘service’ they provided in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


	122. Chapter 122

121 Mycroft's POV

My morning had been spent monitoring Victor, to see if the man was close to paying attention to my offer. But it seemed that his resolve was not breaking in the slightest, even after spending weeks trapped in the same cell for days on end. He had created a routine, working out when he first got up, eating his given meals, marking out the days using his finger nails. He paced a lot, yet not agitatedly. He did not call out for me, did not talk to himself, did not beg for interaction. He worked to his routine and that was _it._ It was frankly infuriating, I needed the man gone soon, so he was out of my hair, I had bigger things to worry about than Victor still being on English soil, and yet it was such a huge part of my daily worries. I wanted him gone, as soon as I could.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on which way you saw it, I got a phone call, calling me away from my viewing. It was John on the line. Here we go.

“Fix it Mycroft; he’s never going to let me in if he has everybody encouraging him to be resistant in everything I do!” John growled down the phone, the sound of him pacing in the background. He was getting incredibly agitated, understandably. Nobody was paying attention to him; the only time they spoke to him was to make sure he knew he wasn't wanted. With all that influence, it was no wonder Sherlock was being incredibly difficult about the whole thing. He was still resisting, running as much as he could, trying to escape our hold.

It wasn't working; I had employed precisely thirty agents and placed them strategically around Sherlock’s favourite places, monitoring his every move. If that didn't work, there was a helicopter that followed his movements, and all the cameras in London were tracking him. Sherlock couldn't go anywhere without us knowing about it.

It was starting to agitate him, but it was for his own good. So we knew where he was, what he was doing, making sure he wasn't in danger, wasn't getting... _tempted_ by unsavoury activities. Especially after that crime scene near the drug den. And, we had to monitor him, to make sure he wasn't trying to find Victor, or go back to his own haunts with Victor. I wished I could move the man out of the country, but he was being incredibly stubborn when it came to listening to debriefing for the mission intended for him. I was cruel, but I wasn't about to send MI5’s best out to Eastern Europe without giving him his orders. Getting MI5’s best killed thanks to not following protocol would get even someone as high up in the chain as me a serious sanction, and I couldn't give up any type of power right now, when things were critical.

“I can’t say I’m exactly sure as to what you want me to do. I have spoken to everybody involved and given them incentive to follow our plans; I don't think there is much else I can do.” Really, Sherlock’s associates were more stubborn than my brother was, and that was no mean feat in itself. I could always take them away, but that would only cause Sherlock more distress than necessary. He did need these people in his life for precise reasons, taking them away would take away a pillar he relied on. I would be incredibly reluctant to take one away.

Though, if push did eventually have to come to shove, I would consider taking one away, replacing them with someone else more suitable... I should probably start looking up the files for potential replacements... the agent files would be for the best; they would need nerves of steel and to be patient with my brother. To deal with the holes in the wall, the rude comments to underlings, and the constant barging into the morgue to demand body parts. But at the same time, replacements wouldn’t be too hard to find. The problem would arise from my brother, he did _not_ like change in the slightest, and he was rather fond of his group, and proud that he had found them all by himself.

“How about talking to your _brother_ himself? You haven’t bothered to talk to him at all in all this; you’ve used me the entire time!” John hissed, “Maybe you can _logic_ some sense into his thick skull.”

“John you know that I am considered a hostile force to my brother, my presence will, if anything, push him further away.” I wanted to go and see my brother, desperately in fact. I had not seen him in months, apart from through surveillance footage. I wished I could talk to him, or at least see him, but I feared my presence would make things worse. He blamed me for everything, which I couldn't exactly say wasn't true, but I didn't want to cause him more distress than necessary.

“I don't care, Mycroft! He’s _your_ bloody brother, you’re supposed to be the one who’s gotten him to listen in the past, get over here and sort him out!” John was getting rather angry; the stress of this wasn't doing him any good either. He was desperate for his old life, and Sherlock was denying it at every step.

“Alright, if you so insist.” I sighed, giving in, “I shall talk to my brother when I have some spare time this week.” it may be for the best, or at least could get my brother to understand something of our motives, and get him to calm down.

Or I could make him worse than ever. It was a risk I would have to take, though, if not just to try and get _some_ people on the same page and stop all this pain.

“Doctor Watson,” I stopped John from stopping the call, “Please do remember that you’re supposed to be befriending Sherlock again, not constantly acting like his enemy.” John was starting to get rather hostile; I felt it was best to warn him of his original mission again, in case he had forgotten. It currently seemed like he had gotten caught up in the hostility of everyone else, and had forgotten that my brother was fragile, and that John was supposed to be the calming presence in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of half 1 last night, my dissertation was finished and uploaded! YAY! It means I can finally focus on finishing this fic (I'm literally 2, maybe 3 chapters off) and make a start on researching/starting my new fic! I'm so excited!


	123. Chapter 123

122 Sherlock's POV

I ended up sleeping on Mrs Hudson’s sofa for the night, underneath a borrowed sheet and pillow. It wasn't my most comfortable night’s sleep, but it was certainly better than staying upstairs, where I knew John could walk in at any time. I never felt safe sleeping with him in the flat, scared he would come in and root around my things, look for something new to take from me, or do something to me in my sleep. Who knew what Mycroft had planned for me? He could be ready to do _anything_ to me to make me comply with his orders; I didn't sleep if I could help it, now, just in case.

At least I managed to sleep on the sofa in 221a; I knew I was safer here. All the doors and windows were locked, the curtains were closed, and I was in perfect hearing range. I would notice if someone tried to break in, even in my sleep. I’d hear the lock being picked, the curtains moving. Upstairs, I wasn't sure I would hear just footsteps, down here; I knew I would hear the lock being picked.

“Good morning, Sherlock, sleep well?” Mrs Hudson asked as I sat up, stretching out the kinks created in my back.

“Well enough.” I yawned, heading to the bathroom. Mrs Hudson wouldn’t mind me using her shower, or eating some of her food.

Interestingly, she had set out a clean toothbrush for me on the sink, next to hers and Mr Chatterjee’s. That, and she had one of my spare suits hung up on the back of the door, like she had been expecting this. But when had she stolen one of my suits?

“Mrs Hudson, when did you acquire my clothes?” I poked my head back out the door again, after I had cleaned my teeth.

“Oh, I got that one out a while ago, while I was doing your laundry. I thought you may need a spare down here at some point, in case you slept over one night.” Mrs Hudson shrugged it off, the woman was sometimes more insightful than she let on.

“Thank you.” I smiled, grateful for her forward planning. I wouldn’t have thought of it, certainly wouldn’t have gotten away with sneaking it downstairs. But Mrs Hudson was inconspicuous enough to get away with it, especially as she did usually sort out my washing, or at least took it and collected it from the dry cleaners. She didn't do John’s anymore, though, always made him do his own cleaning. She used to sort out Victor’s, though, all the time.

“Not a problem, Sherlock, I thought this would happen soon or later. Now hurry up in that shower, I’m going to make a fry up!” She bustled into the kitchen, the smell of cooking bacon soon wafting into the bathroom, mixing with the steam and the smells of shampoo.

She’d even put in _my_ shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel next to the bath so I could use them. Mrs Hudson had actually gone out and bought brand new bottles, so I could use them at will, if I ever slept down here. I couldn't... I couldn't quite believe she would do all that for me. Just so I could be more comfortable. She was a marvel, an actual marvel.

“Thank you.” I hugged her after I got dressed, so unbelievably grateful for her efforts. I would have been happy just to spend an afternoon and night down here, but she’d made it so I could stay longer, and keep to my routine, and keep the things that I liked and were accustomed to. I, I loved her. I truly did.

“Not a problem, like I said. I know that times are tough for you right now, whatever I can do to make things better, I’ll do.” Mrs Hudson smiled again, stroking my cheek.

“I know, but, you did so much, thank you.” Really, I’d felt like nothing fit in my world yesterday, like everything was caving in. But this morning, it was like the world had been propped up a bit, still crumbling, but given a small bit of respite. All thanks to Mrs Hudson knowing me, and knowing exactly what I liked, and how my routine worked.

“Like I said, anything to help out, even in the smallest bit. Now go sit down, before you drip all over me.” she playfully pushed me away, revealing the wet patch my hair had left on her dress.

We ate comfortably together, hearing the sounds of John stomping around upstairs but ignoring them. Mrs Hudson talked over them, in fact, telling me all about the gossip around Baker Street, as well as everything going on with her friends in her book club. It was mundane to hear, but still a comfort. It was nice, to hear about others’ lives, how outside of this hell, life was still ticking over like normal. It was just my life that seemed to be crumbling to pieces around me.

“I should probably get back upstairs now.” I sighed, when the stomping got louder, more insistent.

“There’s no rush to leave, Sherlock, you can stay for as long as you want.” Mrs Hudson glanced upstairs, fearfully. She knew, too well, what it was like to be stuck in a relationship like this. At least she had had me to get her husband convicted, and eventually executed, to get her out. Me, though, I didn't have such luxury. At least John wasn't violent, that was something, at least. Not that I couldn't defend myself, if anyone was taking down the other, it was me taking down him.

“It’s best not to get John angrier than needs be, he’s already storming around like he wants to break through the floor, let’s not make him escalate.” I really didn't want to go, wanted nothing more than to camp out down here for as long as physically possible, but I couldn't. I would have to face the devil’s right hand man eventually.

“Alright, but as soon as you need it, you come straight back down here, you are _always_ welcome, even when I’m not here.” Mrs Hudson hugged me close, “I don't care what your brother says, you are not to be a prisoner in your own home, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, and you will _not_ be treated like a rabid animal while you are here.”

“Thank you Mrs Hudson,” I didn't mention how lucky I was to get down here in the first place yesterday, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Be sure you do, and try, just _try,_ to be safe.” Mrs Hudson got teary, “I can’t lose you, Sherlock, you’re too precious to me. I will not stand for you to be treated like this.”

“I’ll be alright, I always am.” I flashed a smile, just as I started hearing banging upstairs, sounded like pots and pans being smacked against table tops.

Slowly, I opened the door, heading upstairs, trying desperately not to act like I was scared to face John again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support, it means so much!   
> Small update on how finishing this fic is going - I still haven't finished the final chapters! In my defense, I have exactly what I want to write in my head, I just need to get it down!


	124. Chapter 124

124 Sherlock's POV

Somehow, I ended up being followed _more_ than usual, practically having an entourage matching my step for step. at least five guards, John, a bloody helicopter and all the bloody cameras in London moving every time I moved. I could barely breathe without it being reported back to my brother. My brother who was luckily staying far away from me. if I saw him, I doubted I would be able to keep calm. In fact, I wouldn’t hesitate, I’d hit him, with every single thing I had. Until he was beaten and bloody. Until his minions pulled me away and chucked me in some cell or something. Anything was better than this, even a 6 by 4 cell with no windows. At least it would be quiet, at least I could _breathe._

“Sherlock, you don't look well.” Molly whispered, worried, in the lab, as she handed me test tubes to put in the Mass Spectrometer.

“Don't I? What a surprise.” I hadn’t slept in _days,_ hadn’t been left alone for even a _second._ John had taken to just walking into my room at any time he fancied, calling it ‘checking up on me,’ otherwise known as _checking I’m not high._ If I barricaded myself in, then one of the other guards climbed the fire escape and stared in, going so far as to _pick the window lock and climb in_ if I dared to close the curtains. I hadn’t had a moment of peace in _days,_ hadn’t made it Mrs Hudson’s, hadn’t managed _anything._

I was more tense than I had ever been, skin crawling so harshly it was practically coming away from my muscles, the world getting so small it already felt like a 6 by 4 cell, only ten times more stifling.

“Is there, can I do anything?” Molly asked, “You can sleep in my bed if you want. I-I mean, if you need space. I can take the sofa, a-and you can have the bed, if you need time.”

“No good, _he’ll_ get in the way.” I sent a glare John’s way, who glared right back. He’d tried being nice several times, it always lasted five minutes. He wasn't _kind_ anymore, barely even tried, acted like he was the highest and mightiest being, like he was doing me a favour because I was _so_ disabled and _so_ helpless. I’d make him helpless, so helpless he wouldn’t be able to bloody _move,_ and then we’d see who was helpless.

“I don't get in the way, Sherlock, I look after you.” John answered, apparently dropping the nice act around Molly, too. clearly being nice was wearing on him, and it wasn't exactly getting him any favours from anyone. Must have been _so_ easy to show his true colours. How I didn't notice before I didn't know, I should have noticed how cruel he could be. Maybe I did, maybe I just didn't pay attention, too _desperate_ for someone to like me to care that he casually insulted me whenever he fancied it. not anymore, never, ever again.

“And you’re doing a _wonderful_ job, is Big Brother preparing to give you a knighthood yet for your _great_ sacrifice?” I shot back, not daring to look at him. I wanted to focus on the case at hand, to work with science. The things I knew, the things I found comforting. Things that gave me pleasure usually. But it was so hard to find any spark of happiness in this stuff when I had _him_ sitting there, ruining everything by existing and _guarding._

“Oh give it a rest, Sherlock! I’ve had enough of your attitude to all of this!” John growled, Molly jumped feet.

“And I’ve had enough of your _presence._ And yet you won’t get the hint and _go away._ Why should I be kind to someone who treats me like I’m an invalid incapable of thought?!” I pushed Molly behind me, making sure she wasn't in the middle of this. I didn't even want her to see this argument, but there was no way she would leave now, at the least, I could get her out of the firing range.

“Because it’s for your own good, maybe?” John countered, smugness around the edges of his tone.

“My good? Or your ego? Does it feel _good_ to be all in charge and powerful again, feeling like you’re helping someone? You’re still limping, so it can’t feel too good, now can it?” I deliberately looked at the cane in his hands, the one he still carried. Even after all this hostility, all the arguments and everything else, that limp still hadn’t gone. Clearly I wasn't giving him enough _danger_ yet, too bad I wasn't actually going to give him any.

“Sherlock.” Molly whispered, shivering behind me as John turned red with anger.

“And now you’re scaring Molly, how does that feel? Like you’re a man, yet, like you’re in charge?” I knew I was baiting him, but he was making me so _angry_ all the time. I wanted him to _feel_ that anger, feel the helplessness, and _everything_ I felt constantly. I wanted him to _hurt._

“That’s enough, Sherlock.” John tried to remain calm.

“What are you going to do about it? take something else away from me? try it, you’ve already taken the most important person in my life away, and taken away my freedom, there’s not much else you can do.” There was, there was so much more, and I knew I was tempting fate and everything else, but I didn't care. I simply did not care right now.

“Sherlock.” Molly held onto my jacket, forcing me to step backwards as she did, because John was stepping forward.

“I’d think _very_ carefully about what you’re going to say next, Sherlock, I really would.” John warned, he didn't scare me, he really didn't scare me.

“And I would start acting like a doctor and a human being, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon, so why should I bother stopping?” I wasn't going to back down, he was still treating me like a wild animal, so I was going to treat him the same way.

With that, John ran at me, rage sparking in his eyes. His fists went to swing at my face, I dodged it quickly, pushing Molly out the way, grabbing his arm on the downswing. With practiced movements, I twisted him round, slamming him against the wall, pressing him against it so hard he couldn't breathe.

“Think it through, John, I’ve had more martial arts training that you’ve _ever_ had, I lived with MI5’s _best_ until you took him away. You could _never_ beat me in a fight, _never._ And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you, because you’re _pathetic._ ” I pushed against him harder, taking pleasure in his whines of pain, “Now get out and walk off that anger, go complain to my brother if you must, but _get out._ And if I see, or even _hear_ of you taking this anger out, physically or emotionally, on my friends, who are, for your information, Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, I _will_ not hesitate in making good on Victor’s threats to your life.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” John smirked, I twisted his arm higher up his back, turning it into a grimace of pain.

“Want to bet on that?” I smirked right back, twisting so hard I felt I distinct pop in his shoulder area, hearing a cry of pain afterwards, “Didn’t think you did. So I’d say you should leave now, before things get any worse for you.” I let go, shoving him towards the door, triumphant when John actually left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, I sent my laptop off for fixing, and got out my old one to use! Bad news, it's a really, really old one that is dying a very quick death. It's really slow and the internet isn't the best in the world, and it likes to give me the 'blue screen of death' at random, but it's better than nothing!


	125. Chapter 125

125 Lestrade's POV

I felt bad for leaving Sherlock in the lab with John, but I had had to come back to the station, to look over the rest of the evidence. I wished I could have stayed with them, sensing that something was going to happen. John didn't look at all calm that morning, glaring daggers at the back of Sherlock’s head, being short with everyone. It was almost like the nice act had completely dropped, or at least he was lashing out because he wasn't getting his own way.

It made me scared for Sherlock’s well being. He wasn't looking at all well. To say the least he didn't look well. I had thought he looked ill recently, but now, God, a corpse drained of blood had more colour on them. Stubble was starting to grow in across his jaw, something that _never_ happened. I hadn’t ever seen Sherlock with stubble, apart from when he was on a drugs binge, and I knew for a _fact_ that he wasn't, mostly because he was too closely watched to get close to anything of the sort. He was fighting as much as he could, but I could tell that it was weighing on him, more than usual. I caught him, at times, in more silent moments, flashes, just flashes, of fear, when he was looking at John. He was getting so scared of him, and I could see moments where he considered backing down, just for some quiet. My heart went out to the poor boy, I wanted nothing more than to take him back to mine, protect him from all of this.

And just as I was thinking this, my phone rang, everyone in the room turned to look at me. I quickly fished the phone out, seeing that it was Molly calling. Molly, who was at the lab, with Sherlock and John, _oh God._

“What’s happened?” I asked immediately, making my way to the empty corridor, just in case.

“John and I got into an argument, it got physical. Molly is shaken up, and I feel that she will feel safer if you come too.” Sherlock explained in a monotone, like he was trying to act like this was nothing.

“John did _what?_ ”

“John tried to punch me in the face, I stopped him before he made contact. In fact, I dislocated his arm, forcing him to A&E. Molly is frightened, I think your presence will calm her.” Sherlock answered, still in monotone. Shock. He was in shock. Or holding himself together, for Molly’s sake. I had to get down there, right this instant.

“Give me half an hour and I’ll be there. Just... just stay where you are. Remember to breathe, and if John comes in, then call me immediately.” I raced down to the car park, taking the nearest car and speeding off, sending the traffic scattering with the sirens blaring.

I couldn't believe... actually, I could. John had always had an anger issue, and I felt like he had been simmering on the point of an explosion for a while. But if he had hurt Sherlock, hurt Molly, I didn't care what big brother Holmes said or did, John was going _down._  I wouldn’t let him hurt my friends because he was having a temper tantrum. Just because he had the British Government behind him, I would _never_ let him get away with this. The most powerful man in the country could threaten me all he wanted, it would take actually taking me away like Victor before I would _dare_ let this go.

Racing through the hospital corridors, I found Sherlock and Molly in the back corner of one of the labs. Molly was shaking, trying desperately not to cry, Sherlock’s coat wrapped around her shoulders. Sherlock though, God... the man looked so _lost_ and painfully young. So damn painfully childlike, looking up at me helplessly.

“What happened? Did he hurt you, either of you? And don't try lying, I will find out and I will make sure John pays, fuck what your brother says.” I joined the two in their corner, looking them both over. No blood, no bruises, no signs of major struggle. That was something, at the least.

Sherlock explained in great detail exactly what happened, from how he goaded John, to how he stopped John’s attack before it even started. Molly had felt faint, hadn’t stopped shaking yet, and, as Sherlock informed me, her heart beat was raised by a further ten beats per minute. He himself said that he was fine, and wasn't in need of medical attention.

“Okay, okay, thank God.” I didn't believe Sherlock’s assessment of himself for a second, I could see his hands shaking, the panicked glancing at the door, the way he was hovering as close to me as he could without being obvious, like he desperately wanted comfort. I had never seen him look like that before, never seen him be so openly worried. It made him look impossibly young and fragile, I hated the look on him, hated seeing him look so filled with fear.

But Molly was worse off, so I had to focus on her, even though everything was screaming at me to take Sherlock to the side and get him to talk to me, to gather him close and give the poor boy comfort.

“We’ll discuss this later in detail,” I wouldn’t take him to the station, God no, we would go somewhere else, somewhere quiet, out of the way, “But right now, maybe we should find a doctor to look after Molly.”

“Don’t go to A&E.” Sherlock warned, “John will be in there, getting his arm fixed.”

“Of course. Alright... you two stay here, I’ll, I’ll go find a doctor.” I raced out the room, not wanting to be away for a second more than was needed. Not right now, not ever if I could help it. Not after this, because if I had learnt anything over the years I had been in the police force, one hit was soon turn into a beating, and eventually, it wouldn’t stop, not until the victim was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got my original laptop back! Yay! It means I can finally give you guys an official chapter count! The official number of chapters to this fic is 146, so there isn't many left to go, so I should probably get on with writing a new fic!


	126. Chapter 126

126 John's POV

He had threatened me; Sherlock had _threatened_ me, had goaded me into a fight, and then threatened me. Who the _hell_ did he think he was?! And what the hell did he think he was doing?! Did he think that this would get Mycroft to take me away? I didn't think so, I was untouchable here. Big brother cared so much for his little brother, and that meant having _me_ here with him to protect his moody arse.

Though, doing that in front of Molly, maybe not the _best_ idea. Surely this would get to Greg and Mrs Hudson, and they wouldn’t be happy in the slightest. Oh who cared? They hated me anyway, they weren’t exactly going to suddenly change their minds any time soon, would probably hate me for the rest of time anyway. What was the point of acting like a saint when they just thought I was the devil? I had tried for _weeks_ to be on my best behaviour in front of them, act like I was a friend, like nothing had happened at all, and all I got in return was abuse. Why should I bother to be nice when they weren’t nice to me? They weren’t my job, Sherlock was my job. And no matter how infuriating he was, I wasn't giving up on him.

I would still have to curb the anger, though; I’d rather not have Greg try to arrest me for assault. It wouldn’t stick for long, but still, best to avoid that paperwork, or give Mycroft more reason to be a condescending bastard.

Rubbing my fixed shoulder, I tried to figure out where to go now. With Sherlock in the mood that he was in, going back to that lab wouldn’t be the best idea, and he still had several guards watching him subtly through the windows and the camera feeds, so he was safe for now. I couldn't go to Scotland Yard, either, as Greg was incredibly hostile to my presence, and would be worse if Sherlock wasn't there.

I guessed I could go home, but at the same time, would Mrs Hudson know by now? Or would she think it weird that I was home without Sherlock? It hadn’t happened in a while, and generally, if we were separated, it was because he was hiding himself in her flat. If I arrived without Sherlock in tow, and without any sort of reason for it, I had no doubt that she would find it suspicious. And use the opportunity to give me more of the cold shoulder act, or give me a few pointed comments about my actions, and that was the last thing I needed.

A walk, I’d have to go for a walk, wait for some sort of confirmation that Sherlock was home, or out on the search for clues to do with the case, where I could join in. The case would distract Sherlock from what happened, nothing else mattered when the game was on, he would barely notice that I was there, or at least ignore my presence until such a time he fancied to talk to me again. How that would go down, I wasn't sure, but we would move on, that I knew for sure. Sherlock wasn't one to hold grudges, or hold someone trying to assault him against them.

In fact, he used to goad me all the time, used to anger me so much I stormed out of the house to cool down, and then he’d act like nothing happened by the time I got back. Never said sorry, never acted like he had done anything wrong. So he’d probably do the same now. It was his fault anyway; he had pissed me off deliberately, pushing my buttons because he was bored, or showing off. It was the same here, just like always.

So I started walking, always trying to keep equal distances away from Baker Street and Scotland Yard, in case I was called to either place. Anything could happen now, anything at all, I had to be prepared.

What I wasn't prepared for, though, was a blacked out car suddenly driving up beside me, and Mycroft’s men shoving me inside, without a word of what was going on.

It seemed that Mycroft had found out about the argument, and judging by the rough treatment, he wasn't pleased. Oh God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments!  
> Just to let you know, I have technical issues again, I now can't scroll on image heavy websites like tumblr and pinterest, and I have no idea why. I'm going to see what my techie friends say, and try to get it fixed, if not, it's a new laptop for me!


	127. Chapter 127

127 Sherlock's POV

As soon as Molly was seen to and put into a taxi to be taken home, my legs gave out. It was miracle Lestrade caught me before I hit the floor, managing to steer me into a chair as the world did a weird spin.

“Whoa there kiddo, you alright?” Lestrade tried to make light, though his eyes were worried.

“Fine, fine.” I waved him off as best I could, holding my head in my hands, trying to make the nausea go away unsuccessfully. My whole body felt like it was shaking, actually _shaking_ all over, the room spinning round like some sort of theme park ride, I felt sick, physically sick.

“Are you going to be sick?” Lestrade asked, matter of fact.

“No.” I wasn't, really wasn't. I was fine, just a bit off balance, that was all. Nothing to be worried about, nothing at all.

“Alright, well, just sit tight, okay? It’s all okay now; you’re not in any danger. You’re safe.” Lestrade crouched in front of me, his hands always on my shoulder and knee, not moving an inch.

“I know I’m safe. I know I’m safe.” I knew it, I did know it. Of course I was safe, I was always safe, could take care of myself, didn't need somebody else to protect me. Not from John at least, never from John, no matter how angry he got.

“Yeah well it seems like your body doesn’t. I’d say you’re having a bad adrenaline crash, mixed with a bit of bottled up shock, am I right?” Lestrade summed that up damn well.

“I knew it was coming though.” I did, I really knew that it was coming, I had _wanted_ it, wanted his anger, wanted his pain, wanted him to feel what I felt. I had _welcomed_ it.

“Did you really, or did you just think you wanted to lash out in the only way you could?” Lestrade sighed.

“I, I don't know.” Thinking was hard; everything spun too fast, shook harder than I could take.

“That’s alright kiddo, just breathe for me, and we’ll sort it all out later. Just breathe for the moment, focus on breathing through it.” Lestrade helped calm me down, until everything came back to a standstill, remaining where it should have been in the first place.

“There we go, better now?” Lestrade smiled as I nodded, “Great. Now, I think we need to have a talk about what just happened, because I need to know just what the _hell_ you were thinking?” his voice wasn't angry, just... just concerned. Why wasn't he angry?

“I wanted... I wanted him to feel as angry as I am.” I explained weakly, knowing it sounded stupid to my own ears. But it had made sense at the time, still made since in my mind. I wanted John to feel as bad as I did, wanted him to know that I wasn't going to co-operate with him no matter how bad he treated me. I wanted him to feel my pain, the only petty revenge I could enact on him.

“So you decided to antagonise him until he lashed out?” Lestrade really wasn't pleased at that.

“Essentially.” I wasn't exactly _proud_ of it, alright? I was usually so much better than this, but damn it this whole thing was getting to me so much I just wanted to _scream_ constantly, and I had no way to fight back against any of it. This was my way to fight back, and yes it was stupid and reckless, but I didn't have a choice, how else was I supposed to gain _some_ control back in this? How else was I supposed to make sure that everyone knew just how stupid this whole idea was?!

“Oh Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed again, reaching up to place a hand on my cheek, “This isn’t the way forward, you can’t just risk yourself like that.”

“Why not? Maybe then it will make Mycroft change his mind.” If he was so damn protective of me, he should have decided that his precious baby brother shouldn’t be at the hands of an abuser. Even if I was the one inciting it.

“Because it’s _wrong,_ alright? I know it seems like the only option, but Sherlock, please, you can’t endanger yourself like this! What if John had hurt you, what if he really, _genuinely_ hurt you? Then what would you do?” Lestrade was practically pleading with me, what for I didn't really understand.

“I’m more than capable of looking after myself.” I could handle myself just fine, especially against a little army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a God complex.

“I know that, but what if he caught you unawares, or got one good hit in, because that’s all it takes you know, just _one_ good hit. You’re not indestructible, or infallible, this could have easily have gone incredibly wrong, incredibly quick.” Lestrade asked, I refrained from telling him that at least I would have been looked after by a doctor who was kind, and I would have been treated with respect from someone who wasn't my friend.

“Sherlock, please, I know you’re thinking it’s worth it, but it’s not, okay? It’s not worth it in the slightest. John could have seriously hurt you, and I would have been powerless to punish him for it. You can’t let him win like that.” Lestrade could clearly see he didn't have me convinced, “Look, what would Victor think if he saw this, huh? What would he think if he saw you, beaten and broken, no matter what the situation was in the first place? He would be _heartbroken_ Sherlock.”

“Well Victor’s not here to see anything, and won’t hear of it anyway.” What was the point of thinking about Victor’s reactions to anything that happened to me? He was on mission, would _always_ be on mission from now on. I wasn't ever going to see him again, he could die and I wouldn’t ever be told. What was the point of worrying about his feelings over me being hurt when I couldn't stop thinking about him dying out there and never knowing what had happened to him?

“Sherlock, please, I know he’s not here, but he would be so worried about you, _so_ worried about you. He was scared before he left, terrified in fact that you’d put yourself in danger, how do you think he’d feel, knowing that you were seconds away from being beaten?” Lestrade tried again, his words didn't really have an effect.

“He called me you know, just days before he was taken away, and he _begged_ me to look after you, to make sure that you were safe. He actually _begged_ Sherlock, _begged_ me to make sure that you made it through this, and that you weren’t hurt in the process. If he knew what was going on here, he’d be heartbroken, so please, just _stop_ it, just stop trying to anger John, there are better ways to get revenge.” Lestrade pleaded me, his eyes staring into mine, making sure I knew how concerned he was.

“But I want John to feel this anger.” I wanted it more than anything, wanted him to know just how _angry_ I was.

“I know, but this isn’t the way, so please stop it. If not for me, then for Victor. Let him at least be safe in the knowledge that you’re not in physical danger.”

“Okay, okay.” For Victor, anything for Victor.                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed the last chapter, this week has been insane! Even today, I've got my uni class' book launch to go to later!


	128. Chapter 128

128 Mycroft’s POV

John was roughly pushed into my office, the guards staying on either side of him, guns at the ready.  He looked scared. Good. He should be after what he had done.

“John, we need to talk.” More than talk, if I had _any_ other option, I would be throwing John in a cell similar to Victor’s, making sure he _never_ got out again. Nobody tried to attack my brother, no matter how much they were provoked. I didn't care how much good John did Sherlock, he was _not_ to hurt him, he was supposed to protect him, not treat him like a punch bag.

“Ah, set a date to talk to Sherlock?” John played it cool, but there was tension around his eyes, too much tension. He was getting very, very worried. Excellent.

“No. We need to talk about _you,_ and your _anger_ issue. Tell me, what did you think you would gain from hitting my brother? Did you think that that would get him to join your side? That he would back down? Did you think that hitting him in front of _witnesses_ would court you any sort of control, because if you did, you are more stupid than I thought.” I did my best to keep my cool, but it was hard. I couldn't believe that John, the man I had trusted _explicitly_ with my brother’s care, would lash out like that. I knew the man had an angry streak, but it wasn't supposed to be directed against _Sherlock._

“He goaded me, was I supposed to let him get away with trying to walk all over me? Disrespecting me, after all I do for him?” John argued, like he was the victim in this. My _brother_ was the near victim. I didn't care how well he could care for himself, I wasn't about to let his carer attempt to beat him into submission.

“Sherlock is a disrespectful person, one who frequently used to goad you into arguments, and you _never_ hit him, or attempted to. You _took a walk,_ which is what I _expect_ you to do.” There were other agents around, they could keep an eye on Sherlock if they needed to, John was _not_ to take his anger out on Sherlock.

“And leave him alone? You said never to leave him!” John almost sounded like he was trying to _reason_ with me. People didn't reason with me. They listened and did as I asked.

“There will be other agents who can take care of him while you are cooling down. You are not allowed to hurt my brother, for any reason, do I make myself clear?” I was not going to stand for it, not to Sherlock, not to my baby brother.

“But _he_ was goading _me,_ disrespecting _me!_ Am I supposed to not defend myself? How am I supposed to care for him if he has absolutely no respect for me?” John argued, gesturing wildly, like that would help his point.

“You got his respect before, very easily, and he will learn to respect you again. But attempting to beat him will do nothing but cause more trouble, not just with him, but with me.” I meant it; I would not stand for this. My brother was not a punch bag, he had spent too much of his life as a punch bag by his bullies, his carer was not going to do the same to him.

“Oh and what are you going to do, huh? Take me away from Sherlock? Then who will look after him? You said it yourself; he can’t be left to his own devices without serious consequences.” John turned smug; he honestly thought he was untouchable, didn't he? Well he was mistaken.

“You are a useful asset, John, but not irreplaceable. I can still replace you if you do not do your job properly, and if I replace you, you will not like where I send you in the slightest.” If I could not find anyone suitable, then I would figure something else out, I had many back up plans for my brother, _many_ back up plans. I wouldn’t let John’s anger get in the way of them.

“You wouldn’t _dare._ ” John glared, arms crossed like it would make him look intimidating. I was the king of intimidating people; he looked like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh I would, and I would do a _lot_ more to anyone who hurts a single hair on my brother’s head. Now, for the last time, you will _not_ let your temper get in the way of your mission, you will care for my brother as you always have. And more importantly, you will look after him like you should have been from the start. If you find yourself having a problem controlling yourself, take a walk to calm down, as you used to. If I hear of another case like today, I will not hesitate in ruining your life and making sure you are never, ever seen from again, do I make myself clear?” I was not going to allow John to take control, he was going to behave himself, and he was going to do as I said.

“Crystal.” John ground out.

“Good. Now leave, I have had enough of you today.” I took great satisfaction in watching him get dragged out.

Now if he listened, would be another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


	129. Chapter 129

129 Sherlock's POV

I calmed down, stopped shaking, and eventually, Lestrade decided to drive me home, albeit reluctantly. He didn't want to leave me, for obvious reasons, but I couldn't hide forever, there wasn't anywhere I could go. I was followed everywhere, could see cameras turning in my direction, helicopters tracking my movements from above, I couldn't _hide._ Even if I could, where would I go? Mrs Hudson’s? Lestrade’s? Molly’s? Yeah right, I couldn't put them through John banging down their door. Or worse, my brother and the cavalry.

My bolt holes were out, too, had already checked. Guards were at every bolt hole I had taken for myself across London. Even Victor’s old flat was covered, kept on guard by Mycroft’s men so I couldn't get in. I was barred from staying anywhere but Baker Street, and if I didn't get back soon, someone would come looking.

“I don't like this one bit, Sherlock; I should be coming up with you.” Lestrade glanced up at the front room window, like he trying to see if anyone was in.

“It would only cause trouble, Lestrade, there’s no point.” There really wasn't. I had antagonised John enough today, and I would rather he not explode in front of an audience again. Doing so in front of Molly this morning had been a mistake, a _massive_ mistake, one I wouldn’t be repeating any time soon. Thinking back now, I could have gotten her caught in the cross fire, and while she was stronger than she looked, she wasn't strong enough to defend herself against an ex-army doctor on the war path. I wouldn’t put anybody in danger like that again, not even Lestrade.

“There’s a bloody good point, it’s called making sure he doesn’t hurt you!” Lestrade argued, “I know you think you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn’t bear the brunt of his anger, not when I can help you.” He grabbed my arm, squeezing kindly, but firmly.

“You’ll only have him in a cell for a couple of hours at most. He’s in league with _Mycroft,_ no charges will stick.” I had gone through this, nothing would stick anymore, there was _nothing_ we could do.

“If I bring him in repeatedly, the higher ups in Scotland Yard will notice, and Mycroft can’t cover that up.” Lestrade insisted, determination clear on his face.

“Mycroft can just have them replaced by people who will look the other way, and destroy the paperwork to boot. Besides, if you carry on, he’ll have no qualms with getting you fired, and replacing you with someone more co-operative, and trust me when I say that that none of us want that.” that was one slippery slope I wasn't willing to tread, I wasn't even going to _touch_ that idea, not when I had so little friends in my corner as it was, I needed to keep the people I had.

“Fine. But I swear, Sherlock, if he does it again, if he hurts you, I _will_ press charges, alright? And if he goes near Mrs Hudson, or Molly, I won’t hesitate in shooting him.” Lestrade backed down, though very obviously reluctantly.

“You won’t be shooting him if he goes near them, you’ll be turning a blind eye to his disappearance.” I would kill him myself for that; _nobody_ touched my friends, not like that, and especially as retribution for my actions.

“With pleasure.” Lestrade nodded, “Still though, if you need me, if something happens, you _call me,_ alright? I won’t stand by and let this happen to you, or let you go through this alone. If you can’t call, Mrs Hudson has an ear out constantly; she’ll phone me if she senses trouble.”

“She doesn’t know what happened today, does she?” Mrs Hudson couldn't know, she couldn't know this. I didn't want her to cause more trouble, even if she was trying to defend me.

“No, and I won’t tell her either, to save her worry.” That was good, very good in fact. Mrs Hudson had been through enough in her life, especially with her husband. And while she hid behind her snarky nature and mothering of me, there were deep scars even I could notice underneath it all.

“Thank you.” I whispered, glancing back up at my flat. I really had to go, but I didn't want to, really wished I could have stayed in this car.

But I couldn't. I had to go in and face the music, just like always. I could see Mycroft’s guards starting to discreetly talk to each other, and their lips were saying that they were discussing why I wasn't getting out of the car, and if they were going to have to force me soon.

“I have to go. But go to Molly, make sure she’s okay, stay with her if you have to, just in case Mycroft wants to have another chat.” We couldn't let Molly go unprotected, had to make sure that she was covered after this.

“Will do. And seriously, Sherlock, _call me_ if you need me. I mean it. Don’t let him win, or think for a _second_ that he’s gotten away with this.” Lestrade made me promise, before letting me go.

With a sigh, I walked up the dreaded stairs, finding that John was already there, a bag of takeaway on the table, ready to be dished up. Chinese, from my favourite place four streets away. An apology dinner.

“I would have preferred chips.” Was all I said, before heading to my room, unable to stand the sight of John right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos, it's been a crap week so far, talking to you makes it all better.


	130. Chapter 130

130 John's POV

I tried to walk away every time Sherlock annoyed me, but bloody hell it was _hard._ I sometimes had to be reminded by the other guards around to take a walk, before I exploded again. Not that I was planning on doing it again. He had been deliberately goading me, deliberately seeing how far he could push me until I snapped. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? The man was impossible to deal with, and had been taking _great_ pleasure in pissing me off. And now everyone else we knew was starting to get in on the act, or at least making sure I knew that I wasn't welcome. As if I hadn’t had that made clear before.

Molly flinched every single time I spoke, now blatantly ignoring my presence and sticking to Sherlock’s side like a leech. Lestrade was so dismissive of everything I said, making sure to pull Sherlock as far from me as he could. Mrs Hudson seemingly didn't know of what happened, but was still derisive and looking down her nose at me.

And Sherlock, Sherlock had holed himself up in his room. He came out when there was a case, or when he wanted to experiment, and that was _it._ When he was around, he completely ignored my existence. I didn't hear him talk in _days,_ actual days! If he was communicating, he was leaving the room to do it. Other than that, he wasn't talking, or doing _anything!_ I didn't understand what the hell was wrong with him, he’d taken worse hits from a lot more dangerous people and bounced back immediately, had stormed ahead like nothing had happened! And now when I was antagonised, _by he himself,_ he suddenly goes quiet?

He couldn't be _hurt,_ over this, could he? No, Sherlock didn't feel things like that, didn't care for violence against himself. And anyway, it wasn't like I actually managed to hit him, he blocked it - he _dislocated my damn shoulder._ If there was any resentment, surely that would have fixed it for him!

“Are you just going to be silent forever, now?” I’d had enough of the lack of communication, I wanted him to _talk,_ or at least do something! The silence was driving me nuts, and I never thought I would ever be annoyed at Sherlock being _quiet_ and not sulking.

“Look I may have said before that silence would be _nice_ every once in a while, I didn't mean for you to permanently shut up.” I tried joking; Sherlock simply adjusted the slide on his microscope, like I hadn’t spoken at all.

“You can’t play deaf forever, Sherlock, some day you will have to talk to me again.” he wouldn’t be able to stand keeping all those thoughts in his head constantly. Sherlock was a _very_ loud smartass, he made sure everyone in the room knew what he thought, and more importantly, _had_ to have the last word. He wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for too long, he wouldn’t stand for me to have the last word on anything.

Again, Sherlock continued to stare at his microscope. Not even a _hint_ that he’d heard me. It was _infuriating._ Honestly, one little attempted hit and he was going to try and shut me out like this? Over something _he_ started? Was he serious?! He could not be serious!

“Sherlock, this is pathetic! You think you’re being smart now, being a _better_ person, well you’re not. You’re being pathetic, and stupid, and acting like a child.” I hissed at him, he only reached up to scratch at an unusually stubbled cheek in reaction. He wasn't even blinking; he was so utterly focused on his bloody experiment. I would have shoved it off the table to get his attention, but no doubt that would have brought big brother down on me like a tonne of bricks if I dared it.

“Fine, fine, be like that, see if I care! See if care! Act like a child and see where it gets you!” my voice raised to a near shout, just as the door opened.

“Doctor Watson, I think it’s time you took a walk.” One of Mycroft’s minions gave me a look to say that that was non-negotiable.

“Whatever.” I left, because I had promised to, not because Mycroft was subtly ordering it, or because I actually _wanted_ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have, as always, been a huge highlight of my week, thank you so much for leaving your thoughts on this fic!  
> Also, I've finally added the official chapter count to this fic, there's only 16 more chapters to go, ahhh!


	131. Chapter 131

131 Sherlock's POV

I couldn't help but smirk as John stormed out, barely managing to not slam the door behind him. My plan was working brilliantly. I was annoying John, making him feel as _unwanted_ as possible, all while not angering him. Or at least, not making him as violently angry as he had been. So I was keeping my promise to Lestrade, while still fighting back in my own way, which was what I had wanted all along.

Though, I couldn't say I was happy with John’s replacement taking over, so I didn't even have five minutes to myself during a changeover. At least the replacement guards didn't talk to me, instead stared like if they so much as _blinked_ I would somehow escape and run amok. Like I could, what with the increased security close to every exit point of the flat, the guard in the room, and the guards at every bolt hole and place of comfort. It was incredibly off putting to be stared at like this, to be treated like a dangerous animal, especially when the dangerous, unpredictable one had just left. But it was something I had to put up with, if not just to get a little silence, a little peace. Even with the knowledge that every single thing I did would be reported back Mycroft, it was still a relief.

At least it wasn't John in the flat, that was the main thing. He was gone for at least an hour, and therefore I was safe, all of us were safe.

He had actually scared me a bit in the lab, even though I had wanted that reaction from him. I hadn’t expected him to be that ready to lash out like that, especially in front of Molly. I had thought that maybe he’d shout, storm out to cool down, I didn't... I hadn’t expected to have to dislocate his arm to stop him from hurting either than us. I couldn't believe he’d actually lashed out like that. It was stupid to think that he wouldn’t, he’d proven that he didn't have full control of his anger multiple times over the years. But he’d never actually lashed out at me personally. I somehow didn't really think he would actually try to hit me. But he had. He had actually tried to _hit_ me, and while I could take care of myself, the thought was worrying. Especially when I knew that he had a gun on him constantly, always tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He could get trigger happy at any moment, if I pushed the right button, pressed that inch too far, I had no doubt that he could lose his temper enough to bring out the gun and use it.

Lestrade was right, I had to be careful. I couldn't push John too hard, couldn't be too obvious, I had to fight back in other ways. Not push him into violence like that again. I wasn't so much worried about myself and my wellbeing; I was worried for Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, anyone else who got caught in the crossfire. Lestrade could take care of himself to an extent, but Mrs Hudson and Molly? They were strong willed, and definitely underestimated by everyone, but, they couldn't defend themselves, not against something like that.

And what if Victor did find out what happened? What if he did somehow find out how John was trying to physically hit me now? He’d go _insane,_ try to break away from his mission, risk _everything_ to get back to me. I know he would, he wouldn’t think twice about it. Screw Queen and country when I was in trouble. Doing that could be disastrous. He could get himself _killed._ I wouldn’t let him be killed because of a mistake I made. I wouldn’t let him risk everything for me.

I had to be careful now. Even when I wanted to lash back at John. But it had to be words, always had to be words. Physical force had to be avoided at all costs; it could not be used unless absolutely necessary, when nothing else worked. Even when I wanted to break every bone in John’s body, and would use _any_ excuse to do it, I wasn't going to incite it, wasn't going to risk it, and certainly wasn't going to welcome it.

The violence had to be avoided, and I wished it could be. But I had the most terrible feeling that there would be no way to avoid it all, and this would all end badly, and very, very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments!


	132. Chapter 132

132 Sherlock's POV

John came back from his walk after an hour, just like always. His replacement guard left as John entered, almost like it was some sort of practiced move, I half wished he would stay. Even though the guard never said anything, and followed me with his eyes everywhere, at least he wouldn’t lash out. He was calmer, didn't have any signs of having an anger problem, and didn't react much when I tried to annoy him. I felt safer when he was around, and a hell of a lot calmer.

As soon as John came in after _another_ walk out, the fifth this month, I felt myself tense involuntarily. All my senses were honed in on him, reading his body language, his tone of voice, his word choice, everything. I wished I could relax, but I couldn't do anything but listen and watch him, just in case he snapped, somehow. I wasn't even being particularly annoying, just ignoring him, as I had been since the lab incident. But it was starting to make him lose his temper quicker. I could _feel_ the tension on him, could see him tamp down the anger constantly. I was really pissing him off, just by ignoring him; I wasn't even doing anything else in fear of retribution. I wasn't even daring to escape his watchful eye, in case I left him alone with Mrs Hudson, or someone else I cared about.

Just ignoring him felt like a massive risk, though, his walks had increased tenfold, the guards were constantly in and out of the flat, all because I wasn't talking to John. But I couldn't give it up, how could I give up my _only_ source of retribution here? I couldn't just roll over and let him do as he wished. But at the same time, I couldn't annoy him too much, just in case he snapped again, and this time _made_ me react, in ways that wouldn’t end well for me or anyone in the vicinity.

I shivered at the thought, trying to push it to the back of my mind, focus on my slides, on the case at hand, on _anything_ but the fact that John was back in the flat. It felt impossible, like he had a siren attached to him, screaming louder than usual that he was in the area, that I was in danger.

I hated that I felt scared. I shouldn’t have been scared of _John,_ but I was. And I knew that Mycroft wasn't about to take him away. He’d probably start to think that any act of violence was done to keep me under control, it wasn't like he hadn’t done it before, he’d never cared when I was in school, or the force used to control me while I was in rehab. He had all but encouraged it, and now that he was forcing John on me, I wouldn’t put it past him to let him try to use violence to control my actions.

“I was thinking of ordering Thai for dinner, you in?” John asked, putting milk away in the fridge. I stopped myself from flinching as the door was shut harder the usual.

“Oh for God’s sake, I shut a door.” John rolled his eyes.

“If you just _talked_ to me every once in a while, then maybe we could get past this.” John sat down opposite me, trying to act like he was open to conversation. It wasn't true, it was an act, entirely an act to get me on side, I didn't want to be on side!

“Sherlock, come on, you _know_ that I wouldn’t actually hurt you. You know that I just get angry sometimes, when things aren’t going right and I’m stressed out. It’s not like you were actually in danger.” John explained, his tone sent shivers down my spine.

But could I answer? I couldn't agree with him, that would make it look like I had forgiven him, but I couldn't just sit here, it was too close, so damn close. He just had to lean forward a bit, reach over the microscope, or _use_ the microscope...

“Sherlock, come on, you know me, you know that I wouldn’t cause you harm, not real harm. Just talk to me, and we can work through this.” John tried again, I couldn't reply, couldn't make this seem _normal._ So many cases had proven that. People lashing out at their loved ones, gas lighting them into thinking that this was all normal, that it was a mistake, but carrying on hitting out. The violence getting worse and worse until they _killed_ their victim, or at least caused irreparable damage.

I didn't want that to happen to me, I wanted out of this, but not like that, definitely not like _that._

“I, I can’t talk right now.” I had to get away from him right now, couldn't let this turn into a fight. Walking away was best, I had to walk away _right this second._

“Why not, what’s wrong with right now?” John grabbed my wrist, stopping me from walking off.

“I’m busy, I have... there’s things to do.” I tugged at his arm, but his grip was strong, so damn _strong._ I couldn't pull out, could get him to let go! He needed to let go right now!

“I think this is a bit more important than _things,_ don't you? You’re running scared like a child, and not letting me explain. Let me explain.” John squeezed harder, my bones creaking.

“Can’t right now. I need to do things.” I managed to twist out of his hold, running to the bedroom and barricading myself in, praying that Mrs Hudson didn't come up and see what was going on. I couldn't keep her safe from in here, but I couldn't go back out there again. Not right now, not when it felt like my entire body was being crushed with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the wrong chapter like a complete moron, sorry about that! Fixed it now!  
> Thanks for the comments/kudos on the last chapter, and if anyone is interested in my writing habits, I uploaded the 'authortube newbie tag' to youtube last night if you want to check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7H-dtgPCHjE&t=318s


	133. Chapter 133

133 Sherlock's POV

I managed to avoid John for several more days, but I could hear the affects of his residual anger from the other side of the door clear enough. My quick escapes always ended with furniture being kicked, at the very least, if not worse acts of violence against the flat. The guards on watch had to force him to leave to cool down, daily, and I took to constantly keeping my hand in my pocket, fingers wrapped around my phone, just in case, always just in case.

It was a really, really, worrying time. I wasn't talking on egg shells anymore, it was a knife edge. But I couldn't give in to John’s ways, couldn't back down from him, it would decrease the likelihood of a violent action, but it would give him so much _power_ over me. I couldn't let him have that type of power, had to keep on fighting this, but at the same time, it was feeling more and more dangerous to be even be ignoring him, let alone escaping him. Every time I managed to escape his temper it felt like a miracle. Every minute that Mrs Hudson wasn't around felt like a saving grace. She was my main concern in day to day life in the flat, I would not let John near the woman I considered to be my surrogate mother.

I would do everything in my power to make sure that she didn't know what was going on up here, and to keep her out of danger. She had lived through too many years of abuse and fear, Mrs Hudson did not deserve to live in fear again, I would keep her out of it as much as I could.

But it was so _hard_ to do, to keep the balance going. To fight as much as I could do, to stop John from completely exploding again, to stop anybody else coming within a few feet of him. Sure there were Mycroft’s guards, but what if they didn't intervene soon enough? What if they were given orders to only properly protect me when there were possible witnesses? What if, at some point, Mycroft decided that John’s temper was the way forward in controlling me, and stopped the guards from intervening? I had to take it all into account, and keep everybody out of the way of it all, just in case.

I started turning down cases, or solving them through text and email alone. I stopped going to the morgue, the entirety of Barts, in fact, any analysis that had to be done for a case was carried out by the staff at Barts. And worse of all of that, I stopped going down to visit Mrs Hudson. I told her that I wanted to stay upstairs, that I was causing more arguments than were needed, that it was better to suck it up and deal with it. It was a bare faced lie, and Mrs Hudson protested loudly, but I didn't back down.

“It is a necessary evil, one that I will learn to deal with.” I had sighed, trying desperately not to feel guilty for the look of worry on Mrs Hudson’s kind face. I was doing this for her, to make sure she wasn't in the line of fire, it was for the best. Why didn't it feel like it was for the best?

“But you can’t stay up there with him Sherlock! He’ll... you need a break!” Mrs Hudson had looked at the door, which John had stormed out of not half an hour beforehand. He wouldn’t be back for another half hour at the least, but I felt the desperate need to get this over with and her out of here as fast as I could.

“I’ll be fine, I assure you. I can look after myself just fine.” I had been sure of it, so damn sure. It was John, I’d managed before, had taken down worse than him in the past, too. It should have been easy, it _should_ have been easy.

“But Sherlock, you can’t,” Mrs Hudson tried protesting, I had stopped her.

“I assure you, I will be fine. I have my ways of contacting you all if necessary. I will manage perfectly fine.” It didn't feel like a lie, even though I’d been scared to death at the prospect of John and me alone in a flat together. It wouldn’t be for long, I had promised myself, just until he calmed down, or until I could figure out another solution. It wouldn’t be for that long. If it did, then, well... Plan C would be put into action. It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone, and Victor would be _devastated_ to hear of it, but at least I would be away from John, and he wouldn’t be needed at Baker Street anymore, so everyone would be safe. It would be worth that knowledge at the least.

“It doesn’t feel right Sherlock; I can’t just leave you defenceless.” Mrs Hudson was still fighting, but this had to be quick, the guard had been getting shifty outside the bedroom door, not liking our privacy. John would come home any damn minute.

“I’m not defenceless, I have the burner, I will text if I need any of you.” I would only text Lestrade if he was needed, nobody else. Nobody else could deal with this. Nobody else could possibly help. “Please, just believe me; I will call you if I need you. But other than that, keep yourself downstairs; it’ll cause less problems, just _stay_ downstairs, please.” I had begged, eventually getting her to agree.

Cutting off everybody had hurt more than I expected it too. It was a different feeling of isolation than what I was used to. I was used to feeling alone and cut off from the world, because nobody else wanted to be with me, it was an entirely different feeling to cut everybody else off, even though I desperately didn't want to be.

It was necessary, though, and I would do what I had to do to keep everybody else safe from John and his temper. I’d fight it alone, so nobody else had to be scared, or put into danger. I could handle myself, they couldn't, not as well as I could, and while it felt so unbelievably wrong to keep myself hidden, it was for the best. It was really, really, for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I love talking with you guys!


	134. Chapter 134

134 Lestrade's POV

With every text Sherlock sent me, I got more and more worried. He wasn't coming to crime scenes anymore, was barely offering to help out at all, and was avoiding all other topic of conversation. The texts I did get were brief and blunt, more so than usual. I tried phoning him, but the calls were always rejected. It was worrying, more than worrying. It was downright _terrifying,_ after the hospital incident.

But before I rushed in, guns blazing and setting off a chain reaction I wasn’t prepared for, I decided to have a phone round, see if this was just Sherlock avoiding me to assert his independence. Wasn't like he hadn’t done that before, or pushed me away in a difficult situation because he didn't know how to ask for help... but he was different now, and had accepted all previous offers of help.

I really needed to see what was going on.

With that, I phoned Mrs Hudson, using her landline, figuring that the less I drew attention to our burner phones, the better.

“Hello, Lestrade, is everything okay?” Mrs Hudson picked up after two rings.

“Everything’s fine down here, but I was calling to see how everything is down at Baker Street. Sherlock’s gone a bit quiet on me recently, and I wanted to make sure that things were okay.” I explained, trying not to scare her, as she didn't know what had happened at the hospital. Not that Mrs Hudson was stupid; she could tell the situation was bad, just by the arguments from the last few months.

“Is it safe to talk on these phones? What about... other listeners?” Mrs Hudson whispered it, like that would stop anyone else from hearing, even with a wire tap.

“Let them, maybe someone will realise this entire thing is a bad idea.” It was a stupid hope, and a very hopeless one at that, but you had to try somewhere.

“Oh, yes... well, I can’t really tell you what it’s like here. Everything has gone a bit... quiet.” Oh God, oh Jesus Christ. Quiet wasn't good, quiet was _never_ good in this situation.

“How do you mean quiet?” I forced myself to remain seated at my desk, reminding myself to get the _full_ details before charging off. John could have left, for all I knew.

Pshh, unlikely. But, again, wishful thinking.

“The arguments have quieted a lot since Sherlock last went out to the morgue. Though John still does like to raise his voice on occasion, and I’m always hearing him thumping down the stairs. The man has nearly _wrecked_ my front door with all the slamming of it; I would charge him for damages if I thought I could get anything out of him.” Mrs Hudson started to ramble.

“What about Sherlock, have you seen Sherlock?” fuck what John was doing to a door, what was he doing to Sherlock? Was he safe? Or at least not hurt? I’d take him being _not hurt_ right now. Anything to make sure that he was still alive in the flat, and not seriously injured thanks to John’s temper!

“Erm, not in a while, not since he told me to stay downstairs.” Mrs Hudson explained, “He sounded really worried, and was getting more nervous by the minute as he talked to me. Said that he wasn't going to come down for dinner, or for visits, anymore, to keep from aggravating John. They always argued after one of Sherlock’s visits, and I guess he just wants some peace. But it worries me, because while I can hear him moving about, I haven’t seen him in a while, and he doesn’t want me up there, either.” there was hesitation in her voice, like she was really worried about something. _Please don't say she’s figured it out, please let her remain blissfully ignorant of this one thing._

“Lestrade, I’m really starting to worry that Mycroft has gotten to Sherlock, forced him to comply with his wishes.” Mrs Hudson whispered, then hesitated, “Or, I think John may be.... I have this _feeling_ that John isn’t just shouting anymore. He’s always been prone to anger, and outbursts, but this isn’t... this isn’t... he’s so angry, and I don't see Sherlock at all anymore. What if, what if he’s beating him?” she sounded terrified of the idea, with good reason.

“I’m not sure about that Mrs Hudson, I think Mycroft would have a say in that if John was a threat to Sherlock’s wellbeing.” I lied, John had waltzed right back into Sherlock’s flat again after the lab incident, and there’s no way Mycroft didn't know about it, clearly big brother didn't care about his brother’s safety as long as he was under his thumb.

“I know, I know that. I just, I’m worried. Really worried. It isn’t like Sherlock can’t look after himself, but he didn't look well when he was talking to me, I think he may have been beaten down too far now. I think this has really gotten to him.” I hated every single word she said, hated that it was confirming my worries. What was more, was that I _hated_ the fact that I couldn't do anything to stop it. I could lock John up multiple times, but Mycroft would spring him over and over, would get rid of any paper trail involved. I doubted the man would listen to reason, to _anybody_ but himself at this point, I couldn't stop this. I couldn't stop _any_ of it.

“I know, but he’s a fighter, Sherlock knows when to push on through,” the lie felt _awful,_ I knew the truth of it, I had seen Sherlock Pre-John-Round-One, had seen how lonely he was, how desperate he was for _anything_ to distract him, and just how ready he was to die. I used to think John was a God send, because he had gotten rid of those suicidal tendencies practically overnight.

Now though, in this situation, John was more sent from the devil himself than any higher being. I wouldn’t be shocked at all if this pushed Sherlock over the edge, if things went far too far, and he lost the will to fight for his life. He wouldn’t take it himself, oh no, Sherlock had too much pride to take his own life. But if a punch, a kick, landed too harshly, if an object was used a weapon against him, he wouldn’t fight it. He’d let it hit, and cause whatever damage it could. Sherlock wouldn’t fight back when he’d had enough, he’d let his attacker beat him until he wasn't around to feel it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos!


	135. Chapter 135

135 Sherlock's POV

_“I told you to get us a case! Go and get us a case!” a fist, hitting the table with considerable force, shaking everything on it._

_“There, there isn’t a case! I talked to Lestrade; there isn’t anything he needs help with!” I defended myself, backing away with my hands up, showing my innocence. I couldn't anger John more, I couldn't push him, especially not when he was in this mood. It was dangerous, far too dangerous; I wasn't going to push anything._

_“Find something! I swear Sherlock if you keep us away from **another** case, or try to solve it from the flat, I will not be pleased.” The words were hissed in my face, “Stop fucking around in the house, find us a case **now.** ” this was more than an angry man, this was an addict, looking for a fix. An addict who had been denied for too long, denied his adrenaline rush, unable to control his urge to lash out. He needed to hit something, to feel in control of the situation, to feel **powerful.**_

_“There really isn’t anything, I swear there isn’t anything. Phone Lestrade yourself, there isn’t anything!” I prayed that he’d believe me, and not get worse, I couldn't control him. John was a time bomb, and I didn't know how to defuse these types of bombs. Let me talk to serial killers, hostage takers, anything like that, and I could handle it. Give me an angry John in need of a fix, and I was helpless._

_“Stop lying to me! Stop pretending that you don’t have anything! Stop trying to push me out of here! I’m here to stay, so bloody accept it and find us something to do!” John shouted in my face, every single inch of him quivering, fists tight, ready to hit, oh God he was ready to hit._

_“I mean it, John, there isn’t anything. I swear there isn’t anything.” I whispered, trying to take the fear out of my voice, “Please believe me when I say that... I can...” placation, I had to placate him somehow._

_“How about if I play some violin for you? You, you like to hear me play.” At least he used to, and I had been playing before he came over, the violin was still in my hands, it would be easy to start._

_“You think that the **violin** is a good replacement for a case?! With the way you play it, sawing away like you’re torturing an animal?! Are you **insane?!** ” John exploded, snatching the instrument out of my hands._

_I lunged to grab it back, but John swung at the same time, his fist connecting to the side of my head, sending me careening to the floor._

_“Find us a case **now,** or you can kiss goodbye your precious violin, and just about everything else you hold dear.” _

I woke up with a start, my heart pounding in fear, sweat broken out on my skin, face aching in sympathy from the dreamt punch. It had felt so real, so damn _real._ But it wasn't. I knew that for a fact. John hadn’t actually hit me yet, had gotten close to it, but hadn’t actually landed the blow. He’d been stopped, by either myself or by Mycroft’s minions before he got the chance.

But, the threat was clear. I knew that he wouldn’t hesitate if he got the chance, John was _desperate_ for control, desperate for me to go along with his plans, desperate to feel the adrenaline rush he needed to feel human. He was itching for it constantly, muscles always tensed, gun in waistband, fists clenched. The limp was getting worse by the day, the frustration of it angering him more than anything I was doing.

It wasn't going to be long before he succeeded, I could feel it coming. One day he was going to explode, and I wasn't going to be prepared, and the guards either wouldn’t get there on time, or they just wouldn’t come. Mycroft was surely feeling the same amount of frustration at me, for being so insolent, he would probably welcome the new method of controlling me, especially if it worked. He hadn’t exactly stopped the threats, or done anything to protect me from John, not like he used to. His guard’s intervention was a token effort, making sure the threat was known, giving me the chance to give in before the pain started.

I wasn't going to give in, though, I couldn't do it. How could I? How could I just give in and let this happen to me? I had to fight somehow, even though it was useless. I wouldn’t give in, I would fight, even when the guards left, and I was left with John’s anger, I would fight as best as I could for as long as I could. Even when I eventually lost, at least it would be known that I went down fighting, and didn't roll over to make things even marginally easier on myself.

Rolling over, I realised that I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, and I didn't particularly want to either. I was too keyed up, too worried. I needed to calm down, do something to breathe again, make the most of the silence of the night.

Sighing I slid out of bed, reaching under the metal frame, opening some loose floor boards, taking out my violin case. I had hidden it down there a while ago, making sure that John couldn't get to it. I dreaded him breaking it out of spite, or holding it hostage so I did as he ordered, so I had hidden it, along with a few other choice items, to keep them safe. I had also rearranged the books on the shelves, so the most valuable weren’t at easy grabbing height, so they couldn't be used as weapons. The most expensive were hidden in my wardrobe, though; I valued a lot of my books too much to risk them at all, just like my violin.

Blowing the dust away, I took the instrument out, running my fingers over the strings, plucking at them gently. Loud enough for me to hear, but nobody else would be any wiser to the noise. I didn't dare play properly, in case I roused John and angered him. Instead, I had to make do with idle, quiet, string plucking, going through some hand placements, going through the motions of retuning and applying rosin to the strings.

It was comforting, in its own way. Doing something I enjoyed in the middle of the night, knowing that I wouldn’t be disturbed, and nobody would threaten me to do something more useful. It was silent here now, and the fear of the day and my nightmares lessoned slightly. It was better, at this time of day, things didn't feel as bad. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos, you're all awesome!


	136. Chapter 136

136 Sherlock's POV                                        

All too soon, John’s footsteps could be heard on the landing, signalling that he was awake. I scrambled to hide the violin again, just about managing to replace the floor boards as his feet reached the kitchen. Never had I been more thankful for my exceptional hearing, or for the fact that I’d locked my door the night before.

“Are you going to eat today?” John hammered his hand against the door, making it rattle on its hinges. I expected it, knew it was coming, and yet I still couldn't help the flinch the sound produced, the shot of fear through my chest. I shouldn’t have been reacted like this, should have been used to it, and yet I wasn't. I still felt scared constantly, still couldn't help my reactions, not while I was on my own. I was better in company, when I knew I _had_ to be strong in front of John. I couldn't show weakness, couldn't show that he was getting to me, it wouldn’t end well.

“Oh whatever, like you ever answer anyway.” The sarcastic eye roll was obvious just through John’s tone, but the stomping feet made sure I knew that he wasn't happy with me in the slightest. It was only 8am in the morning, and I was already having to prepare to walk on egg shells.

Carefully, I rose to my feet, getting out my battle dress for the day. The usual suit, complete with white shirt, nothing attention drawing, but still showed strength. I wouldn’t give John the impression that I was breaking under the pressure, I _had_ to look strong against his anger, any type of weakness would be jumped on, reported back to my brother and analysed, used to his advantage.

I showered quickly, dressing in my outfit, placing the burner phone in the inside jacket pocket, where it wasn't obvious to the untrained eye. It didn't put it in easy reach, but it was there, and that was what mattered. If I needed it, I would figure out how to get at it, I always did. What mattered right at this second, was that it was on my person at all times, just in case. I needed to be able to contact the outside world as much as possible, know when someone was trying to contact me, to control everyone outside of this flat, make sure that they stayed away.

“Sherlock, get out here. Stop hiding in your room like a moody teenager!” John banged on the door again, harder this time. He really, really wasn't in a good mood today, worse than he had been in a while. The more time we spent cooped up in the flat, the worse he got. And yet I couldn't give into his wishes of going to a crime scene, I didn't want Lestrade to see this, didn't want Molly anywhere near John, and certainly didn't want to give Mrs Hudson any ideas about coming upstairs.

But staying cooped up wasn't making the situation any better, John was getting in a more and more foul mood by the day. Everything he said came through gritted teeth, his hands constantly clenched into fists, frustration and anger radiating out of him constantly. Even forced walks outside to cool down weren’t doing much good anymore. He just came back less likely to hit someone, but still so painfully angry. There was no let up, ever.

I made my way outside the bedroom, wrapping myself up in my dressing gown as I did. I lived in them now, more than ever before. I needed the feeling of fabric against my skin, the noise of its movement, and, if I was honest, I needed to have that extra layer. Even though it was thin, I needed that extra layer, if not just to make me feel more protected and safe. I couldn't wear my coat, and this was my only alternative. I wished it wasn't, but it was.

This was the only armour I had, the only comforting thing I could rely on having in the flat. Everything else was hidden, or out of bounds. The world was getting smaller by the day; I had to cling to what I could, just to feel like I could get through this for a while longer. Just until I could figure a way out, because I had to figure a way out, I couldn't live like this for long, I had to figure a way out. Even if it killed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, the kudos and the constructive criticism!


	137. Chapter 137

137 John's POV

Sherlock was so... so... _infuriating._ He never spoke anymore, went out of his way to shut me out, and had completely cut us off from the world.

The phone never rang, nobody texted, we never had visitors, it was just us two, constantly. Nobody else. Well, until one of Mycroft’s minions turned up and decided that I ‘needed some air,’ like I needed that, I needed some bloody social interaction! I needed to be treated like I was a human bloody being, and for things to go back to how they were. Cases, chases, catching criminals, Chinese takeaway, chaotic experiments, that was what I needed. Not _air._ Air was stupid, and annoying, and only served to wind me up further. Mycroft was talking out of his arse if he thought that it would help calm me down.

The man was constantly talking out of his arse. He was the only person who bothered to contact us anymore, and he only ever spoke to _me,_ and always in that condescending tone. It was obvious even in the texts he sent.

_Careful Doctor Watson, you’re getting very angry again. MH._

_My brother has not left the flat in weeks, perhaps you should run him. MH._

_Find Sherlock a case, he needs a case. MH._

_Scotland Yard have precisely fourteen unsolved cases, all of them require Sherlock’s help. Get him involved in at least one, it will prove beneficial to you both. MH._

Constantly about the cases, about getting Sherlock, his _precious_ little brother, outside and back to himself again. Well he could bloody try and get him out, then, because he certainly wasn't listening to me! Sherlock ignored _every_ attempt I made to get him to go out on a case again, I showed him the crime scenes photos Mycroft sent me, explained in _detail_ exactly what was perplexing the Yarders, and all I got was silence! If I was lucky, Sherlock blinked, the rest of the time, he didn't react, at _all._ He just sat at his microscope, or read a book, or played around on his laptop. He didn't do _anything else!_ How was I supposed to get us a case when Sherlock refused to even acknowledge that I was talking to him?!

“Sherlock, I mean it, we are _going out_ for a case today. We cannot stay locked up in this bloody flat forever, it’s insane!” I growled at the man, who was poking at his scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs that _he_ had made, after I had made breakfast for the two of us. Apparently I wasn't even good enough to make breakfast for His Highness anymore.

“Sherlock Holmes, for the love of - we are _leaving today,_ so pick a bloody case and let’s go and solve it already!” I shoved the case files that had fallen through our letterbox this morning at him, waiting for him any sort of reaction. Sherlock just pushed them away, carrying on eating, not even deeming me worthy to look at.

“I swear, Sherlock, if this is some pathetic attempt to fight back, I will forcefully drag you out to one of these crime scenes.” _Or I will make **you** a crime scene. _It was left unsaid, but the words hung in the air, it made Sherlock cringe. Good, a bloody reaction.

“Pick one and I won’t have to do anything but follow you. So _pick one._ ” I couldn't be stuck in this flat for much longer, we needed something, we needed adventure, other people to interact with, _something to do_ that wasn't one sided conversation. Jesus I needed something right now.

“I don't want to.” Sherlock whispered, voice rusty from disuse. His own fault.

“Oh words, we’re doing _words_ now, brilliant! Now that you’ve found your voice again, let’s go on a case!” I ignored what he actually said, desperate to get some sort of action. Any sort of action. Just the sight of a dead body would be great right now, any sign of normality, _any at all._

“I said, I don't want to.” Sherlock said a little louder, daring to glare at me this time. His entire body was tense, filled with defiance.

“Why not? Why don't you want to go on a case? It’s a _case_ and you’re Sherlock Holmes, all you do is solve cases.” It was part of his genetic makeup, and judging by the way Mycroft wouldn’t shut up about it, was the only reason why Sherlock was ever allowed out of his family’s watchful eye.

“Because I don't _want_ to, that’s why.” Sherlock answered, standing up, so now he was towering over me.

“Well _I_ want to, so we’re going. Pick something, or I’ll pick for you.” I shoved the cases back at him.

“Pick all you like, see how well that goes.” Sherlock dared, oh he was gaining confidence, deciding to be a little shit, was he? Well then, two could play at _that_ game.

“Oh I will, and you’ll come with me.” I would get him out of here, even if it killed me.

“Just try it, Watson; I’ll have you knocked out before you get your hands on me.” Sherlock challenged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos!   
> Quick question, when I finish this fic, would anybody like to see a list of headcanons I have for this story/scenes I couldn't fit in the fic itself? Turns out that there's a lot of stuff I wanted to fit in, but never could, so would anyone like to see mote notes for them?


	138. Chapter 138

138 Sherlock's POV

John swung before I could blink, but I grabbed his fist before it landed, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him into the wall face first. His head made a _wonderful_ cracking sound against the wood, dazing him.

But he recovered quickly, managing to elbow me in the face, knocking me back. He twisted and grabbed me by the lapels of my dressing gown, slamming me into the floor, knocking all the wind out of my lungs. He used it to his advantage, grabbing at my wrists, pinning them to the cold flooring, his face filled with so much anger it sent fear-filled chills down my spine.

“Sherlock, you should know by now not to argue with me, because it doesn’t end well for you. Now pick a bloody case, so we can forget all about this and move on, like we were supposed to.” The words were said in the nicest tone John could manage right now, but it was still feral, filled with anger and determination. His hands were squeezing around my wrists, tightening to the point of pain, his knees digging into my ribs so hard I could hardly breathe.

“No.” I wouldn’t give in; I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. He could beat me all he wanted, I’d endure all the pain, he would not get his way. We wouldn’t go on a case, I wouldn’t let him near my friends, wouldn’t endanger them.

“I swear, Sherlock, if you don't stop being such a fucking arsehole about this, I will not be responsible for my actions.” John’s hands tightened again.

“Do what you want; we’re _not_ going anywhere together.” I fought as best I could, but I couldn't get out, he was so _strong,_ filled with pent up anger and adrenaline. The limp and the shakes entirely disappeared, his need for danger finally being fulfilled.

“Why not?! Why can’t you listen and do as I say!?” John hissed in my face, sounding more and more animal by the second. His grip was starting to become worrying, scary in fact. I wasn't used to this, wasn't expecting this amount of strength being displayed. I thought I would be able to control the situation, to gain the upper hand; I hadn’t factored in John’s desperation, his use of force. I thought this would be easy, I was wrong, I was so _wrong._

“Because there’s no way I’m going to roll over and let someone like _you_ rule my life.” It was stupid say, was only going to enrage him further, but I couldn't resist, couldn't let him win, had to make sure he knew that I wasn't going to back down. He could beat me as much as he liked, could threaten and fight until the end of time, we were not going _anywhere_ together.

“ _What?_ ” John growled, his entire body freezing solid. I took the opportunity, slamming my forehead into his, twisting until he fell to the side, quickly pinning him down.

“You heard me. I will _not_ roll over and let _you_ rule my life. I will not let _you_ order me around, or beat me into submission. You are _not_ the boss of me; you are _nothing_ to me, nothing but a jailer. And eventually, prisoners escape.” It was an idle threat, one I had no way of accomplishing, not with my brother hanging over my head like he was. But it was all I had, the _only_ thing I had to say to gain the upper hand.

But John just started laughing, despite blood pouring from his nose.

“You really think that you can escape this? That you will be able to get out of this, with _your brother_ around?” he laughed again, “Mycroft won’t let you, he’s got you under such major surveillance that you can’t even _breathe_ without him knowing about it.”

“I’ll do it.” I would... I would get out of this, call Norbury code, get out of here somehow. I would not succumb to this way of living, to this torture.

“You can try, but he’ll just tighten his hold further. Take away more things, until you’ve got nothing.” John threatened, smirking, looking satanic with the blood running down his face.

“I don't have anything left to take.” They’d taken it all, made me hide the rest; there wasn't anything else to have off me anymore.

“What about that violin? Your microscope? How about Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly? Leave you just with me, and Mycroft’s men, keeping you in check constantly. Without even a _phone_ to contact anyone who would possibly want to help you escape.” John made the chills turn to ice.

“You... You can’t know about the phone.” He couldn't know, they couldn't know about my burner phone. How could they know? I had hidden it, kept it safe! Nobody had ever seen it!

“Mycroft has known about that phone ever since Lestrade bought it. He let you have it because you weren’t using it to do anything but solve cases, and keep everyone away. If you had used your recall code, Norbury wasn't it, he wouldn’t have swooped in and taken over, made sure that nobody would have helped you, and that you wouldn’t ever see them ever again.” John laughed again, taking advantage, managing to gain the power again, slamming me to the floor so hard the world shook, hand fixing itself to my neck, squeezing hard.

“You were never in charge here; you never had any sort of advantage. You were always going to be under the thumb, Sherlock, and you were never going to escape. You’re stuck here, with me, forever. So get used to it.” John grinned down at me, his hand tightening further, black spots taking over my vision.

CLANG.                                                                                    

The pressure loosened, the hand slipping away as John’s whole body slumped to the side, revealing Mrs Hudson behind him, holding a frying pan in her hands.

“Stay away from Sherlock, you beast.” She growled to the half conscious man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys, I'll upload the notes, as well as my song playlist for this fic once it's finished.   
> Also, slightly odd question, has anyone used google docs? I'm getting a new laptop soon, and don't know when I'll be able to put Word on it, will google docs be good enough to use in the mean time?


	139. Chapter 139

139 Mycroft's POV

“Hold off officers until I arrive at the scene, I said _hold off_!” I ordered my men over the phone; eyes trained on the camera feed on my laptop, as my car raced through London towards Baker Street. I had set off the second Sherlock challenged John, sensing that this was a situation that would escalate to the point of severe violence. Not even sending John out for his practically daily walk would calm this down, would only rile him up further, and cause Sherlock more trouble.

I had to get there now, defuse the situation, before things went south. I would not let my brother be hurt; I would _not_ let my brother be put into danger by his flat mate and carer. It was the one thing I was trying to avoid; I could not let that happen.

On the feed, Sherlock was holding Mrs Hudson, who was still clutching tightly at her frying pan, John was semi-conscious, and concussed, but was gaining clarity quickly. His eyes flared when he saw who was in the flat.

With a loud growl, John grabbed Sherlock, hauling him away from their land lady, shouting his anger; face so enraged it was making my brother quake.

“Speed up, we don’t have much time!” I hurried the driver, feeling the car speed up further, breaking every speed limit known. It didn't matter, I had to get to Baker Street right now, I had to diffuse the situation. If I thought that the guards could do anything to help, I would have sent them in, but they would be useless in this situation, would only serve to rile John up further. I needed to calm things down, act as an intermediary between the two. It would do no good to force Sherlock and John into listening, it had to be on their terms, unrestrained.

Finally, the car pulled up to Baker Street, the shouting could clearly be heard from the street. I didn't pause to hear what was being said, instead rushed upstairs, the cavalry of guards on the stairs, awaiting orders.

“Stay outside, only come in if I call.” I ordered, racing in.

The scene I walked in on could only be described as fraught with anxiety. Mrs Hudson was shaking by the kitchen door, the look of pure terror on her face as she watched John slam Sherlock into the fridge, shouting at him that he ‘would do as he said, or he swore to God that Sherlock would be sorry.’ My brother had the wind knocked out of him, was pushing as best he could against John, but was getting nowhere.

“Doctor Watson, I suggest you unhand my brother right now, or this will not end well.” I wanted this to calm down, for us all to talk things through like sensible people, but I wasn't afraid to use force if necessary, but _only_ if it was necessary.

“Oh _now_ you turn up, after everything else, _now_ you decide to come and help! Finally!” John shouted, though in a relieved tone, “Maybe you can knock some sense into Sherlock, so we can get on with our lives for once.”

Sherlock paled at the sight of me, his grip on John’s hands loosening. Mrs Hudson didn't have the same reaction.

“You have some nerve showing up here, do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done to your brother? Do you have any idea whatsoever of what has been going on in this flat?” She shouted herself, brandishing the frying pan like a weapon.

“Mrs Hudson, if you would be so kind as to go outside for a moment, where it is safer. I have some things to talk about with my brother and Doctor Watson over here.” I tried to be polite, though I was wary, thanks to our last conversation. To say the least, Mrs Hudson was protective over my brother.

“Like I’m leaving you two alone with him! Who knows what you’ll do to the poor boy!” Mrs Hudson argued, “I’m not leaving until you’re both out of here!”

“Don’t make her leave, please don't make her leave.” Sherlock begged, voice hoarse, he groaned as he was pinned to the fridge door again.

“Mrs Hudson, please, I really think it’s best if you leave.” I really tried to be kind, I really did, but she needed to leave. I couldn't have this talk, get everyone on the same page, if I had Mrs Hudson interrupting proceedings with her musings on what was right for my brother’s wellbeing. It would only encourage him to fight this, and there had been enough fighting for a life time in this past day alone.

“And I think it’s best if _you_ leave, and seeing as this is my house, I have the right to say get out!” Mrs Hudson glared back, such a fierce look for such a little old lady.

“Fine, Wendell, please escort Mrs Hudson out.” My chief guard came in, starting to pull the old woman out of the room.

“No! No don't take her please! Don't take her!” Sherlock cried out, writhing against John’s hold on him desperately.

“Sherlock, it’s for your own good, we’re here to talk and you’re not listening.” I explained, calmly as I could. Calm was needed, the situation was too fraught, it needed to go down _several_ notches.

“NO!” Sherlock scrambled out of John’s arms, and in a split second, somehow managed to grab John’s gun out of his pocket, pointing it immediately at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the help with google docs, it was massively helpful!


	140. Chapter 140

140 John's POV                                                        

As soon as the gun swung to Mycroft, the guards, as well as myself, I immediately jumped to grab the gun. I couldn't care less about whether Mycroft got hit with a stray bullet, but Sherlock was not stable right now, letting him keep the gun was not a good plan in the slightest. Anything could happen, he could accidently shoot someone, and even if Mycroft could get the charges dropped against his brother, it wouldn’t go down well.

“No! Stand back, all of you!” Sherlock waved the gun between all of us, hands shaking desperately. Not a good sign, really, really, not a good sign.

“Alright, Sherlock, we’ll stand back, we’re not going near you.” I tried to reassure him, hands in the air, showing I was unarmed. Everyone else followed suit, even Mycroft.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that gun, Sherlock, I suggest you rethink it.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a stern look, which didn't seem to register with his stressed brother.

“You’re not taking her from me! You’re not taking anyone else from me, you can’t, I won’t let you!” Sherlock pointed the gun at Mycroft again, eyes wild. He was going to spiral, this wasn't going to end well, I had to get that gun back, but _how?_ Sherlock was so observant; he’d notice any move I made!

“I wasn’t going to take Mrs Hudson from you, brother mine, I was simply suggesting that she leave so that we could talk about all of this, like the intelligent human beings we are.” Mycroft’s tone was even, imploring Sherlock to trust him.

“Intelligent?! You’ve been treating me like I’m a child!” Sherlock argued, gun and all of his focus zoned in on Mycroft. Maybe if I could sneak behind him, I could get control of the gun, get rid of the immediate danger...

“I was only doing what was best for you.” Mycroft explained, “You were heading towards a disaster, I was trying to prevent that, so you could keep your life intact.”

“No you weren’t! You were controlling me, like you always do! You were controlling me and making me your puppet!” Sherlock argued, louder now, both hands wrapped around the gun, steadying it only slightly.

“It was not my intention to make it seem that way.” Mycroft answered, ever the politician. But it was keeping Sherlock occupied; I had gotten three steps closer to him while they were talking. Just four more and I’d be in position, ready to step in and get Sherlock under control before this all went down the drain.

“Well you did! You swooped in and took over, just like always, and destroyed _everything!_ You took away my best friend and left me with _him_!” Sherlock swung to face me, gun aimed right at my head, “ _Him,_ who treated me like I was an _insolent child,_ like I was nothing more than his _prisoner,_ using _violence and fear_ to control me.” the hatred in his eyes, I had never seen someone look at anybody like that.

“Sherlock, that was a mistake, and we both know it.” I tried to defend myself, trying not to look like I was desperately running through possible ways to get that gun away from me.

“A _mistake?_ A _mistake?_ That was by no means a _mistake._ You acted like it was, but it was deliberate, just like everything else has been.” Sherlock hissed, fury practically making his eyes glow.

“Sherlock, John did not mean to lash out at you like that, he’s apologised and we have put measures in to keep this from happening again. Now put the gun down so we can talk about this.” Mycroft made us both turn to him, “If you don’t agree, then I have no issues with forcing you to listen.”

“I don't want to listen anymore!” Sherlock shouted, “You always want me to listen, to do as you say, because you think you know best! You _all_ think you know what’s best for me, and you don't! You don't know me at all, and don't understand anything!”

“Sherlock, I am your older brother, and you know that I know what’s best for you, I’ve been pulling you out of problems your entire life.” Mycroft argued, he was getting angry now himself, good, maybe someone could shout some sense into Sherlock.

“No you don't!” Sherlock screamed out, “You know _nothing_ about what’s best for me! You pretend to know but you don't! All you do is take away things that make me happy, and make me feel like I can’t be who I want to be, because you think you know better! You think that I’m better off as an emotionless robot with a carer to keep me in line with what _you_ want! But I’m not! I’m happier when I’m with Victor, I was so much _happier_ with Victor here, when I was allowed to see my friends, to do what I wanted unwatched, when I was _free_! I’m not free with you here, I’m _never_ free when you’re controlling me!” the stress stretched to full on screaming hysteria, more emotion than I’d ever seen in Sherlock before.

“I’m never free, and I’m never going to be free! You’re going to take and take and take until there’s nothing left apart from your minions, controlling every single thing I do! And I can’t take it anymore! I can’t do this, I can’t live like this.” resignation set in, the gun raising up and turning.

“Sherlock, don't even think about it.” Mycroft warned.

“I would rather make my own choice to die, than to live like a caged animal.” Sherlock pointed the gun at his head, his finger wrapping around the trigger.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reaction to the last chapter was INSANE, thank you all so much for all the comments, it was absolutely amazing!


	141. Chapter 141

141 Mycroft's POV

Before any of us had time to blink, the gun was knocked out of Sherlock’s hands, scattering to the ground by my feet. John had acted quickly, and had effectively restrained my brother, pinning his arms to his sides as he writhed.

“No! No! Give it back!” Sherlock cried out, desperately writhing around. John was struggling to keep hold of him, but I couldn't move, I couldn't bring myself to step forward. I was... I think I was in shock. My brother had pointed a gun at his head, was going to shoot, my brother... my precious baby brother.

“Give it back!” Sherlock cried out again, fighting more than I had ever seen him do. And I had seen him fight against orderlies in rehab, doctors in hospitals, my own men in the street. He had never fought this hard, looked so desperate. He couldn't be... he couldn't be _that_ desperate, could he? This had to be a power play, he had to be acting, he couldn't be this... this... _scared._

“Sherlock calm down right now! You’re being ridiculous!” John growled, Sherlock didn't listen, he somehow writhed harder. His breathing was speeding up, whole body shaking minutely, he was panicking. Sherlock was panicking. He wasn't acting, this wasn't an act...

“Little help here!” John glared at me, his grip on my brother so tight I was surprised he wasn't causing a lot of pain. He could have been, could have been causing Sherlock significant amounts of pain, but Sherlock was so desperate to get out he didn't notice. He didn't care. He was so desperate to get out, to get the gun, now in one of my men’s hands, to shoot himself to end it all. My brother, my baby brother, wanted to _die,_ thanks to this situation. A situation I had created for him, thinking that it was for the best.

What had I done?

“Let him go.” I answered, I couldn't let this continue, couldn't let this carry on.

“What?!” John didn't show any signs of loosening his grip, “Are you insane?” if anything, it tightened. Sherlock cried out for a third time, this time in pain.

“For God’s sake, John, let him go.” I ordered the man. John thankfully did, Sherlock scrambled out of his way, shaking so hard he could barely stand. He was _crying._ Sherlock was _crying._

I looked at him, _really_ looked at him, and that was when I saw, possibly for the first time, the true state of my brother.

Sherlock was deathly pale, the dark circles under his eyes showing that he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. He was freshly washed, but he hadn’t shaved in at least three days, stubble covering his jaw, his curls unstyled, laying in complete disarray on his head. His clothing screamed that he was wearing his armour, despite the fact that he didn't know that I was coming today. The shirt and trousers hung off him, proving that he hadn’t eaten properly in weeks. The calluses on his fingers, caused by years of dedicated violin playing, were showing the first signs healing, he hadn’t played, not properly, in weeks.

And, as Mrs Hudson, who I had forgotten was even in the room, stepped towards him, he clung to her with all of his might, letting out a loud sob, filled with fear and pain. Sherlock’s entire weight was leaning against her, vulnerable and so much like he had been as a child, clinging to our mother because his bullies had been particularly cruel that day.

But the bully was me. I was my brother’s bully, I was the cause of all of his pain. This was all my fault.

“Everyone needs to leave.” I barely even whispered, unable to take my eyes off my brother. The boy I had promised Mummy I would look after. I had promised her, over and over, that I would protect Sherlock from the dangers of the world, keep him safe from those who meant him harm. I had failed, so, so badly.

“Finally, maybe you can talk some sense into him.” John smiled, like he was winning, like this was a _good thing._ That my brother, _sobbing his heart out_ and _wanting to kill himself_ was perfectly normal.

“I meant you, too.” I tore my eyes away from Sherlock and Mrs Hudson, turned towards the man I had put in charge of Sherlock’s care. He had pinned him against a fridge, had gone to hit him, used violence as a threat to try and keep my brother in line. And I had left Sherlock with him. What had I been thinking? Had I been thinking? I thought I was doing the right thing, how as this at all the right thing?

“You’re kidding.” John looked incredulous.

“No, leave, now.” I wouldn’t let him be anywhere near Sherlock again, never, ever again.

“But I thought-” John started to protest.

“John, I suggest you leave now, before I change my mind and cause you a _lot_ of pain.” I would do it myself. Sod not getting my hands dirty. If John did not leave right this second, I would make sure he never walked again.

“Mycroft,” John tried again.

“I said leave, I will not ask again.” I gave him my best glare, which finally made him move. He left soon after, along with all my guards. Leaving me, Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson.

“Sherlock,” I wanted to reach out and explain, set this right, but Mrs Hudson stopped me.

“I think you better leave.” She gave me such a fierce look, which shouldn’t have been possible while holding onto a six foot tall man who looked like a dying drug addict.

“If you just let me-” I tried again, over the sound of my brother’s sob. I couldn't stand the sound of it, couldn't stand to know that I had caused this, I needed to make it right, somehow, I _had_ to make this right.

“I said, get out of my house, you _reptile._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to put the line in, I couldn't resist!


	142. Chapter 142

142 Sherlock's POV

I couldn't stop shaking as I clung to Mrs Hudson, unable to shake the huge surge of fear and desperation. I had been so desperate for this to end, so, _so_ desperate for this all to be over, to be safe again. I wasn't safe here, not with John in the house, nobody was safe, I couldn't keep everyone safe. I couldn't take this anymore, not the stress, not the isolation, not any of it. I couldn't. I couldn't do it anymore, I needed it all to _stop,_ before someone else got hurt, before I lost everything dear to me.

“Shhh, Sherlock, shhh. It’s okay now, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Mrs Hudson was whispering in my ear, her frail hands clinging as much to me as I was to her. I couldn't let her go, couldn't risk her being taken from me. Mycroft would take her from me. He wasn't going to be happy with any of this, he would do something in retaliation, to keep me in line. He always did, he _always_ found a way to keep me alive, no matter how much I wanted otherwise.

“He won’t take you, I won’t let him, I won’t let him take you anywhere.” I clung harder, I couldn't have Mrs Hudson leave, not my Mrs Hudson. She was... she meant safety, love, _caring,_ I couldn't have her go, I couldn't let my brother take her from me. Even with whatever he was going to do, I wouldn’t let her go. I couldn't have her taken from me.

“He’s not here anymore, Sherlock, he left, everyone left. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Mrs Hudson sighed.

“They’ll, they’ll be back.” They always came back, every time I thought I won, I always lost.

“Not this time, I swear if Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, or any of their _friends_ come near this house again, I will personally make sure that they regret it for the rest of their lives.” Mrs Hudson’s tone held no room for arguments, forcing me to look her in the eyes to see the steel there.

“They can’t be stopped! They’re, Mycroft won’t let me go!” how couldn't she understand that?! Mycroft didn't listen to me, he didn't stop! If he wanted something, he got it, it didn't matter what I said, he _always_ got his way!

“Well then they’ll have to go through all of us.” Lestrade was here? When did he arrive? And with _Molly?_

“Mrs Hudson called Norbury.” Molly shrugged, showing me her burner phone, Mrs Hudson’s text on the screen, sent just twenty minutes ago. I hadn’t noticed, how hadn’t I noticed?!

“I thought it best if we stick together, just in case your brother comes for any of us, or tries anything. As you said, he could have retreated, but if he does try anything, he’ll have us to get through.” Mrs Hudson smiled, looking as fierce as I had ever seen her.

“Same goes for John, he gets anywhere near you, he’ll have me to answer to.” Lestrade’s hand unconsciously went to his baton, “He crossed a line from the moment he stepped foot in this house, and after everything else he’s done, I’d like to have a _word_ with him.”

“He’ll be armed, and angry.” The gun wasn't here anymore, and John wasn't about to let this lie. No way in _hell_ would he ever let this go.

“I’ve faced worse.” Lestrade shrugged nonchalantly, “Now, to put it bluntly, you look like shit.” I felt it, everything aching, adrenaline levels falling through the floor. I couldn't relax, but there was a small, tiny in fact, sense of relief. For the first time in months, John wasn't here. John was nowhere near me. I was surrounded by people I trusted, people I knew cared and weren’t out to control me, it was a relief. A small one, considering everything that just happened, and what could potentially be looming over us, but a relief nonetheless.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself be looked after, let others in and take care of me. Molly checked for bruises and injuries, Mrs Hudson made tea, Lestrade went over the house, making sure that we were free from guards watching over us. I had a few pulled muscles and several large bruises, the tea was overly sweet, but welcomed, and the flat was unwatched, as far as we could tell. We were alone. I was alone, for the first time in a very long time. I didn't know what to do with that information, had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Did I weep with joy? Prepare for my brother’s next attempt to control my life? Spend some quality time with my friends, after so long without them?

I didn't get the chance to figure any of that out though, because too soon, a car pulled up outside the house. The engine silent, giving away that it was one of Mycroft’s. The front door downstairs opened, footsteps coming up the stairs. Very, familiar footsteps...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just send the last two chapters of this fic off to be beta read, we're getting towards the end now!


	143. Chapter 143

143 Victor’s POV

Lights in the cell slammed on, morning had arrived. Fifty push ups, fifty squats, yoga routine. Breakfast served, eggs on toast today. Put new tally mark on the wall, the seventy-sixth to be precise. Continue with yoga, exercise as best I could in the small space. Pace a while. Try not to worry about Sherlock too much. Worry about Sherlock obsessively. Who knew what John was doing to him? Or what _Mycroft_ was imposing on him?

He must have been so scared, so lonely, probably watched every minute of the day, barely able to breathe, let alone run. Sherlock wasn't meant to be kept like this, he was supposed to be free, he needed freedom, without it his brilliant brain rotted, he suffered so much, pulled further and further into himself until he was the only person in his world. I’d seen him do it, seen how he had been when we first met. It had taken me weeks to get past his walls, hell to even get him to hear me _speaking._ It wasn't him being difficult, it was just how Sherlock had learnt to live. Going through the motions, not expecting anybody to talk to him, lashing out when the taunts burrowed too far into his head.

And John would be taunting him, treating him like he was dirt. I just knew he was. He didn't have a _clue_ who Sherlock was, not further than what he had read in file, and he didn't care either. As long as he got his way, he didn't care. And Sherlock wouldn’t let him get his way, so he would be threatening and taunting, wearing Sherlock down until he gave up.

God, if I could get my hands on that man, I would tear him limb from limb. He was ruining Sherlock, abusing him, acting like _he_ was the problem. Bastard. Fucking bastard. I hated him, hated him with a passion, beyond anybody else I had ever hated before. And I had met the worst kinds of people, had been beaten and tortured by them. I hated John more, couldn't help it. John was hurting Sherlock, and nobody hurt Sherlock, not without getting retribution from me.

I thought and I thought and I thought, the worry getting worse by the day. I could imagine it now, Sherlock broken, forced into Mycroft’s plans, worn down to the point where he wasn't even him anymore, just the robot his brother had always wanted him to be. Would he even try to go back to the drugs if that happened? Would he even _care_ enough to try to avoid it? What would Mycroft and John do if Sherlock went off the deep end?

Rehab, another cold, dark rehab centre. With uncaring doctors, who tried to diagnose Sherlock as a sociopath and didn't care that he had needs. I’d heard the horror stories, the time spent in isolation, the rounds of sedation, refusal to listen to him. Sure, Mycroft made efforts to keep him comfortable, but damn it, hospitals were the worst place for Sherlock! He couldn't deal with the florescent lights, the clinic smells, the scratchy uniforms. He needed warmth and love, safe, familiar places!

If he ended up in rehab again, he would never get out. I was certain of it. After all this, it would _break_ him, break him so much he couldn't be repaired. If I ever got out of here, ever heard news, even a _hint_ that that had happened, Mycroft wouldn’t live. I didn't care if I spent the rest of my life in this cell, it would be worth it, killing the man who caused so much pain and suffering to one of the most wonderful men to ever grace this planet.

The thoughts carried on swirling, for days and days, each one blending into another, until one day, the door to my cell opened. Outside was a guard, one I hadn’t seen before.

“Trevor, you’re leaving.” He said gruffly, his tone and facial expression telling me that there was no time for questions. But, what if this was my mission? What if Mycroft had given up keeping me in this cell, decided to just send me away on a mission so he didn't have to deal with me?

“Where am I going?” pointless to ask, but worth a shot at least.

“Don’t know, don’t care, so leave.” The guard showed no sign of malice, or of knowledge of what was going on. He did show signs of wanting to use force on me though, so I left, wanting at least a moment of dignity. If I was being forced off on mission, I wanted to at least walk there of my own free will.

I was handcuffed as I stepped out, a bag going over my head so I couldn't see where I was going, before being shoved in a car, which drove off immediately after the door slammed behind me. it smelled familiar, the leather of the seats were high quality, and judging by the tiny sound of fingers tapping on a touch screen, I was in one of Mycroft’s cars. What the hell did the man want now? if he thought a little trip out was going to convince me to sod off on one of his missions he was sorely mistaken.

But the route we were taking didn't take us anywhere near Mycroft’s office, or the Diogenes. Judging by the sound of traffic outside, the turns we were taking, and how long it was between each turn, we were going somewhere else. Somewhere near the centre of London. MI5? No... we would have had to have made a left turn twenty minute ago for that. Buckingham Palace? Pshh, I’d been many times, somehow I didn't think the invitation would be open at this time. Especially not while I was tied as I was. But where else could I be going? Baker Street? I highly doubted that!

And yet, the turns we were taking seemed to be heading towards Baker Street. I wasn't the best with London’s geography, but I knew most of it, especially like this. Had made a point of learning it years ago, just in case. We seemed to be heading to Baker Street, why was I heading to Baker Street?

Fear hit me in the chest, that something had gone horribly wrong. But I had to remain calm, whatever had happened, I would soon find out what it was, I couldn't panic now, couldn't break. It wouldn’t be useful to anyone to break down now.

Soon, we pulled up, the handcuffs and hood taken off as I was shoved out the car, the vehicle driving off the second I was on the pavement. The pavement I had walked down many times, had wished I was on every single day since I was put in that cell. I was on Baker Street. This was _Baker Street._

What the hell was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were right, it was Victor! And I finally figured out how to write his POV, just a little too little too late lol! Well, at least he's got one POV in this!


	144. Chapter 144

144 Victor’s POV

Carefully, I took the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, in case I needed to be stealthy. I had no idea what was going on inside that flat, had no idea what had been going on with Sherlock for _weeks,_ there was no way to know exactly which way to play this. But the best option was silent and stealthy, in case it was a trap, or some sort of mission. Though why Mycroft would send me to Baker Street on a mission I had no idea. The same went for setting a trap for me, he already had me in custody.

Unless this was a trap for Sherlock. I swear if that man had decided to torture his brother some more, this time using me, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.

Breathe. Calm. I had to be calm, had to assess the situation, figure out what was going on. Distracting myself with possibilities without the facts was a terrible idea. One Sherlock always warned against, always moaned at people for doing.

I reached the landing, avoiding the creaky steps and floorboards, though unable to hide the sound of my shoes on the floor. The flat was silent from what I could hear through the closed door. Not a sound was coming from it. Though, as I pressed my ear against the door, I could hear breathing, small shuffles, from multiple people. At least three... no, four. Didn't sound like a struggle though, more like people crowding together, awaiting what was on the other side of the door.

They’d heard me, all sense of surprise gone. Damn it. No choice but to open the door and face what was inside then.

Slowly, I opened the door, taking in as much as I could. The askew furniture, the cotton wool pads on the table, violin and stand missing, books reorganised, various nick-nacks missing from shelves, tidy for the most part, but signs of a struggle.

And, there, in the space where front room met kitchen, was Sherlock, huddled in the middle of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, all staring at me with wide eyes.

“Victor?” Lestrade questioned first, eyes squinting like he couldn't believe it was me.

“Victor!” Sherlock pushed out of the group, but didn't come closer, like he too couldn't believe I was standing in front of him. I couldn't believe he was standing in front of me, after all this time, after thinking I would never see him again, there was my Sherlock, right in front of my face.

And he looked _awful._ Deathly pale, clearly sleep deprived, shaking slightly where he stood. His eyes looked dead, the way he was holding himself screaming that he was hurt, that he’d given up looking strong. And was that a _bruise_ on his neck?! Was that a _hand shaped bruise_ around Sherlock’s neck?! A freshly made, _just starting to darken, hand shape bruise_ on his neck?!

“What the hell did he do to you?!” I rushed over, running my hands over his injured neck, looking over the rest of him desperately for injury. John had... he’d... he had done this to my Sherlock. I couldn't... I’d thought he would but I hadn’t actually imagined it... I’d expected bad things but not this, never this.

“John wanted to get his own way, it didn't end well.” Sherlock answered, voice hoarse.

“They were arguing something terrible, Victor, honestly I haven’t heard anything as awful in my life! I had to hit John with a frying pan just to get him to let go for a second.” Mrs Hudson explained, going through everything she could.  

“He did _what?_ ” anger flooded my veins, fists clenching. John had tried to _choke_ Sherlock to get his own way? Had wrapped his stunted little hands around my best friend’s neck and squeezed, like it would force Sherlock into submission? That little... I couldn't believe... John did _that_ to _Sherlock?_

Forget tearing him limb from limb, I was going to _destroy_ him, piece by piece. Break every bone in his body, rip the skin from his bones, cut him and burn him until he was _begging_ for death. I’d make him feel every single _second_ of fear and pain he made Sherlock feel, make him realise what he had done to one of the most brilliant men on the planet, someone who had _never_ deserved that kind of treatment. I’d make sure John never laid a hand on anybody ever again, make sure he knew what pain was, and if he was lucky I’d end his sad little life quickly, instead of making every last moment of his pathetic little life agony.

“Victor.” Sherlock whispered fearfully, bringing me back to the moment. My hands were clenched around his jacket, near his throat, his own holding onto me, like he was scared that he was going to have to control me. But his eyes, he was looking at me in _fear._ He’d never looked at me with fear, he had always been in control, always had the upper hand. He shouldn’t look scared, especially not because of me.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not... I wasn't angry at you, I would _never_ be angry at you for this.” I forcefully relaxed my hands, being as gentle as I could as I pulled him in for another hug, like it could keep him safe, heal all the wounds, stop all the pain.

“I know.” Sherlock whispered, there was strength in his voice, but he was still scared, I could tell. John had terrified him, clearly kept him living in fear for months. I wouldn’t allow him to be scared of anybody else like that again, with me around, he would be safe in the knowledge that I was safe. That everything was safe. That _he_ was safe. John wouldn’t touch him again, Mycroft wouldn’t touch him again, _nobody_ would touch him with the intent to harm him ever again.

“I hate to break this up, and ask, but Victor, how did you get here?” Lestrade asked, breaking the moment. He looked tired too, run down, like he’d been strung tight for weeks. Everybody in the room did, they were all relaxed now, but the signs of exhaustion were still stark on their faces and bodies.

“A car brought you, one of Mycroft’s, judging by the fibres.” Sherlock explained, looking suspiciously at something on my shoulder, something I couldn't quite see, “You also haven’t seen sunlight in weeks, and have taken part in minimal exercise, probably thanks to being kept in a cell, a small one at that. designed to increase anxiety in a victim, until they beg for release.”

“Six by seven foot cell to be precise, somewhere underground near Whitehall, judging by the route we took. Though I can’t pinpoint the exact building, Anthea had a hood over my head.” At least Sherlock’s deductions were intact, he was alright enough to deduce, so he had to be some medium of alright. He was rattled, a bit traumatised, but he’d be okay in the end, I’d make sure of that.

“You’ve been here the whole time?!” Molly seemed shocked.

“Well Mycroft couldn't exactly send me off on some mission without giving me a briefing, and seeing as I bit his head off, or anybody else’s head off, every time they came near me, they had to give up. Can’t send someone out on mission without any clue of what they’re doing.” I shrugged, I’d been convinced for so long that Mycroft would send me off, but he never did. He’d always kept me in that cell, like it would drive me insane enough to agree with him. It never worked.

“Mycroft has almost total control over everything, but not even he can justify sending MI5’s best off without any preparation or warning.” Sherlock smiled weakly, eyes cataloguing everything, taking every inch of me, as I had to him.

“Yes, even he’d have to answer to that.” Mycroft was powerful, but he wasn't _all_ powerful... yet.

“But that still begs the question, why did he let you go?” Lestrade asked, and for that, I had no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters to go now! But sadly, I can't update on Friday, as I'm out all day! I'll be back on Monday, and I'll update then!


	145. Chapter 145

145 John's POV

What the hell was Mycroft thinking, kicking me out like that?! And threatening me too, was he _insane?_ What did he think he was going to do with Sherlock while I wasn't there? If he went nuts, Mycroft couldn't stop him! He’d kicked all the guards out, and he was not match for Sherlock’s strength.

I had no idea what the man was doing, and I really didn't appreciate being dragged down to his creepy government prison. There were a hell of a lot of criminals down here, and I didn't want to be near them, especially if they weren’t involved in a case Sherlock and I could solve.

Unless one of them had a case for us to solve... but then if that was true, why was I here while Sherlock wasn't? It didn't make sense. Surely, I needed to be there for the briefing on the case. I wouldn’t be any good if I couldn't point Sherlock in the right direction, as I usually did.

I waited over an hour until Mycroft burst in, the doors slamming into the walls so hard I was surprised they didn't dent.

“You took your time, where’s Sherlock?” I asked before the man had stopped moving. He didn't seem to be stopping moving, was practically steam rolling towards me, backing me into the corner.

“He’s not here, he’s safe from you and your anger.” Mycroft hissed in my face, getting so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“Whoa there, what are you on about?” I looked for a way out, but Mycroft was practically surrounding me with his presence. The stone-cold look was gone, his face twisted with anger instead.

“You, _Doctor_ Watson, holding my brother by his _throat,_ causing him _pain._ Trying to intimidate him, scare him into submission, until he was living in fear of _you._ ” Mycroft growled.

“Hey, he brought it on himself! He wasn't paying attention to a single thing I said, and acted as if I was a jailer! How else was I supposed to get him to follow our plan, asking nicely didn't work!” How could he blame me, when he was the one pushing me to sort his brother out?! He left me high and dry, with no resources, no back up, no nothing! I had to what I had to, just to get Sherlock to pay the slightest bit of attention to me!

“Asking nicely, is that what you call emotional abuse? What do you call violence? _Persuading_ someone to follow orders?” Mycroft started to turn red.

“How else was I supposed to get him to do as _you_ wanted? You didn't give me any help! I was on my own!” I started to _see_ red, so damn _angry_ with Mycroft. How could he blame me entirely? He said he would help, he would support me! He did _nothing,_ he stood back and watched me struggle, over and over and _over_ again, until I had to resort to violence! I hadn’t wanted to, but Sherlock pushed, and pushed, so much that I had to do _something_ to get somewhere with him!

“I hired you to look after my brother, to make sure that he was safe, cared for, and _happy._ You were supposed to be there to make him _happy,_ and instead you made sure you squashed every single part of himself, cut him off from the world, and made him feel so miserable that he put a _gun_ to his head!” Mycroft shouted, were those _tears_ in his eyes? That manipulative bastard, trying to pin this all on me, instead of taking the blame!

“You wanted that! You wanted him _safe,_ you wanted him _protected_ from the outside world! You wanted his little world to keep on ticking as safely as it could be! I was only following _your_ orders, if this anyone’s fault, it’s _yours!_ ” I shouted right back, I would not take the blame for this, I would _never_ take the blame for this. This was not my fault, this was Mycroft’s, plain and simple, not mine!

“I may be guilty for many things John, but I am not the one who decided to raise a hand to my brother.” Mycroft sighed, “Take him away.”

Guards raced over as he stepped back, grabbing me and hauling me down the corridor.

“What? Wait, Mycroft, where am I going? Mycroft!” I shouted at him, struggling against the men dragging me.

“There’s been a vacancy in the facility, you’re filling that hole.” Mycroft smirked evilly. He couldn't be... he wasn't! He couldn't be putting me in here! He couldn't be locking me up! I hadn’t done anything wrong! I didn't deserve this!

“You can’t do this! Mycroft, you can’t do this! I was doing what you told me to do! I wasn't doing anything you didn't order!” I had only been following orders! I hadn’t done anything wrong, I swore I hadn’t done anything wrong!

“You hurt my brother, John, you created his own personal version of hell, and that is not something I can condone. Also, how can I run the risk of you running into my brother, trying to exact revenge on him? I can’t, and while it would be amusing to watch Victor tear you limb from limb, I think I’d rather be the cause of your suffering.” Mycroft nodded to the guards, who threw me into a cell, “Goodbye John.” he smiled wickedly, before the door slammed in my face, the door clunking into place.

“No! No, you can’t do this, Mycroft! You can’t do this! Mycroft! Mycroft!” I banged on the door, tried to open it from the inside, getting absolutely nowhere.

I was trapped inside a tiny cell, with no windows, no stimulation, and no way to get out. And I knew, from that moment, that I wouldn’t be seeing another human being for a _very_ long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to post! I've had a very stressful few weeks, and it's knocked me for six, so I've spent the last week recovering. Back now though!


	146. Chapter 146

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter! I can't believe we've gotten this far and finally finished it, I hope you enjoy it! And, if you want to see any of the songs I was listening to while writing this, as well as the headcanons I came up with that I couldn't fit in, they're all in the next chapter!

146 Sherlock's POV

The mystery of why Victor was let go remained a mystery for several days. Several days we made the most of, tidying the flat as best we could, getting rid of all of John’s things, putting back everything I had hidden. Soon, the flat was starting to look like it should have. Books were in the right place, experiments were on the go on the table, my violin was back in pride of place by the window, the tension of the place lifting to the point where I actually dared to breathe properly.

I did what I wanted, I talked loudly, about anything I wanted, I solved a case for Lestrade, went to Bart’s to see Molly, invited Mrs Hudson up for dinner. Everything slipped back into place, the feeling of things slipping into place so relaxing I actually slept, I _actually slept,_ for the first time in weeks. Nightmare free, insomnia free, I just slept solidly, waking up and feeling rested, too.

But I wouldn’t let Victor unpack his things.

I couldn't risk it. I couldn't let him unpack his things, make it feel as if he was _staying_ this time, only for Mycroft to barge in and take him again. For John to come in and take away all traces of Victor again, erase any hint that Victor even existed. I couldn't risk that happening again, had to avoid it at all costs. I wanted him to unpack, to settle himself back into life here, but I wouldn’t dare it. I couldn't... _wouldn’t_ let him be erased like that again. It was better to just... make the most of the time we had, and not make the inevitable more painful.

“I don’t think I’m being taken again, Sherlock, I think, I think I may be here to stay.” Victor tried to reassure me, his hands so gentle, _always_ so gentle, on my face.

“I wish I could believe that, Victor, but I’ve never been that lucky. Mycroft has something planned, there’s going to be a reason for this, and I for one don't want to be desperately trying to hide something of yours, just so I remember you exist.” I wouldn’t do that to myself, not again. I didn't want to go through it again. I could _not_ go through losing Victor for a third time.

“Alright, alright, I understand,” Victor looked sympathetic, pulling me into a hug, “But I want you to know, that I’m not going anywhere. Mycroft can try it, but I’m not going to let him take me away. He can’t pull this trick again, I would rather die than let him have his way with us.”

“Don't say that, don't ever say that again.” he couldn't do that, he couldn't even _say_ that. Not right now, not _ever._

“I’m sorry, but, it’s true. I’m not leaving you again, I swear.” Victor squeezed me tight, I wished I could believe him, wished I could believe that he wasn't going anywhere.

“That is very true.” A new voice answered, a very familiar voice. I turned to see _Mycroft_ at the door. _Mycroft._ My blood ran cold.

“You have some nerve turning up here.” Victor tightened his grip on me, and I on him. Not so soon, God please, not so soon. I’d only just gotten him back, I couldn't... my brother couldn't take Victor from me again, he couldn't possibly take him from me again.

“I, I’m only here to talk, nothing more.” Mycroft held his hands up, his _empty_ hands. He didn't have his umbrella with him. I hadn’t... I couldn't remember the last time I had seen him without the umbrella.

“Yeah, and I’m the fucking Queen of England.” Victor hissed right back, moving me behind his back.

“Honestly, I am. Sherlock can tell you, he can read the signs.” Mycroft looked imploringly at me. I took a moment to look, _really_ look, at my brother. His tie was askew, jacket unbuttoned, eyes red and bloodshot. He didn't have his umbrella. He’d been... I think... I think he was... he looked like he’d gone through an emotional upheaval. There were no signs of manipulation there, he was...

“He’s telling the truth.” I answered, but didn't let go of Victor’s shirt, as if it would keep him here if my brother actually was lying.

Victor and I shared a look, deciding whether or not to let him talk.

“Talk. But be quick about it.” I decided, just this once, I’d let him talk, see what he had to say. See if this was anything to do with Victor’s return.

“I wanted... I wanted to explain, and apologise.” Mycroft sighed, that was something I had never heard from him before, “I thought, mistakenly, that you needed a carer, that you could not look after yourself, so I hired John, to look after you. I thought that that would be a good idea, as he was reliable,” Victor snorted, cutting him off.

“We know exactly what you thought of John, we don't need to hear it again. Get to something we don't know.” He glared at my brother, every inch of him tensed, ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

“Our parents, they brought me up to believe that it was my job to look after you and make sure that you were safe. They thought that you were vulnerable, especially after all the bullying and isolation during your school years.” I didn't mention that half of the isolation was their fault, by putting me in dorm rooms by myself, “And once Victor went to MI5 after university, I used what I knew of you and your previous experiences, to extrapolate how your life would turn out.” Mycroft took a breath.

“What I came up with was... bleak, to say the least. I saw more loneliness, and increasing isolation from your peers. I saw you completely cut off from the world, with nobody there to listen to a thing you said, apart from myself. I saw you struggling every single step of the way, in everything you did, isolated by your condition and by your intelligence. Once you ended up in rehab, I calculated that you would be dead by the age of thirty-five.” All of us winced at that, though I wasn't shocked. I had never thought I would live long, or with any sort of happiness. Though, I had calculated that I would make it to thirty-three, if I was incredibly lucky.

“I wanted to change that, to give you a chance at happiness and success. So, I came up with a plan, to give you the perfect friend, someone who could look after you, while acting as a friend and partner to your life. That someone I came up with was John. And, at first, it worked brilliantly. Your life expectancy doubled, your chances of relapse into addiction halved, and most importantly, you were _happy._ You were so happy, Sherlock, happier than any of us had seen you in years. Mummy had all but given up on you even smiling ever again, and suddenly there was John, giving you more joy than any of us could have hoped for.” Mycroft looked at me like he was begging me to believe him, that he had been trying desperately to help.

“Well he turned out to be a _psychopath._ ” I hissed, my throat protesting.

“I know, and that was something I had not predicted. I thought that John was a more calming presence than Victor, as he kept the status quo, he didn't rock the boat like Victor does. I thought it was best for things to tick on like they always had, to not risk any of your relationships with anybody vital to your life. Victor was encouraging you to admit to things you hadn’t spoken about in years, and while it made you happy, I was afraid that it would end badly. I was afraid it would give others the ammunition to ruin your life, as so many have done in the past. So, I did what I thought I had to, I took away the thing rocking the boat, and instead replaced him with the person I thought would keep your safe.” Mycroft sighed, looking at me apologetically.

“It was a mistake, one that has cost you greatly, one that I can never, ever fix. So, I have done the only thing I could think to do. I have given you back Victor, the person who makes you happy, and made sure John cannot get to you again. You won’t be seeing him around, and won’t have to worry about him coming back. He’s locked away in the same facility you were in, Victor, and he won’t be coming back out again.” Mycroft seemed to prepare himself for what he said next, “And I will not be interfering in your life again. I will not be trying to change your life, or acting like I know what’s best, as I apparently don’t. You will be left alone from now on, no security guards, no surveillance, and no-one will be taken from you.”

I was momentarily stunned at that. Mycroft, leaving me alone? As in, not studying my every move, acting like I was some sort of unruly teenager that needed reining in? I didn't... I wasn't sure what to do with that information.

“So that’s it then, you’re going to leave us alone, just like that? No repercussions, no nothing?” Victor got his voice back first.

“No. You are both free now, to do as you wish, for the rest of your lives.” Mycroft nodded, he looked... he looked _sad_ over that, like he would actually miss me, “Though, if you need anything, _anything,_ at all. I will grant it. I will never refuse to help you again, in any way I can, but only when you wish it.”

“You’ll only intervene when I wish it?” I asked, needing to make sure I heard that right.

“Only if you wish it. If either of you wish it. If you don’t want me, then I will not be there to get in your way. Your life is your own, Sherlock, it was wrong to ever pretend that it wasn't.” Mycroft was sincere in that, he believed that, he _meant_ it.

“I wish you a very happy and successful life, Sherlock. One filled with friendship and dancing, and everything you wish to fill it with.” Mycroft paused, like he was studying me one final time, before looking at Victor, “And Victor, thank you, for being the friend my brother always wished for. I know that he will be safe with you, and happier than I could ever hope to make him.”

“It helps to listen every once in a while.” Victor glared, though he had relaxed slightly, only slightly though.

“I will make sure to remember that in future.” Mycroft was reluctant to leave, I could tell, “Goodbye, Sherlock.” he eventually whispered.

“Goodbye, Mycroft.” I couldn't believe he was leaving my life, that Mycroft was actually going away, leaving me alone. I had never been left alone my entire life. I had always had him looking over me, mocking me, treating me like I was some sort of idiot nuisance. But, Mycroft was leaving. He was actually _leaving._ I was free. Free of him and his control. I could do as I wished now, for the rest of my life, without anybody choosing things for me.

I was _free._

Victor and I stood for a few seconds, watching the empty space my brother had just vacated, taking in everything he had said.

“So, I guess that means we can move on now.” Victor sounded in a daze, just like how I felt.

“We can. We can move on.” We could get on with our lives, be ourselves, relax at last.

“Wow. I, I don't know what to do now.” Victor looked to me, like I had the answers.

“Well, you could unpack, to make a start.” It was the only thing I could think of. Getting unpacked, settling into our flat, _our_ flat, 221b, getting back to life again. This flat could be our home again, our _actual_ home. The place where we were safe, where we could be ourselves. No judgement, no violence, just us. I smiled at the thought.

“After all, you are staying, and there’s a spare room upstairs that needs filling.”


	147. Chapter 147

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the 'thank you's' headcanons I promised and songs I listened to bit, the last chapter is in the previous post, in case you missed it.

First of all, I'd like to say a massive thank you to you all. Everyone who read this, and especially those who commented, you are all wonderful human beings. You encouraged me when I was hitting my head against a wall due to writers block, and had so much love for this, I couldn't believe it! I was so unsure when I started this fic, I didn't have a clue what I was doing, or if it would work, your dedication to this story was amazing. 

Thank you all for the wonderful comments, talking to you all about this fic, along with other stuff, has been amazing, I loved hearing all your theories, thoughts and feelings! 

Also, thank you for putting up with the random breaks in my usual posting schedule, this year hasn't been the easiest, and this fic was very much an escape, as well as therapy, so it means a lot to see you all so supportive and understanding.

A special thank you has to go to the wonderful Nita, who has beta read this fic and given me some great constructive comments, I could not have done it without her help! 

 

I've made a bit of playlist of the songs I was listening to while writing this fic, and added the links to them too if you want to check them out:

Songs:

Lies <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLpGgu5yozM>

Down Goes Another One [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqiF_Bns6fM&index=184&list=PL7E6A58A0AAB2FDDF](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqiF_Bns6fM&index=184&list=PL7E6A58A0AAB2FDDF)

POV [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wvKKWxfDiE&index=6&list=PL7E6A58A0AAB2FDDF](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wvKKWxfDiE&index=6&list=PL7E6A58A0AAB2FDDF)

Don’t Let Me Get Me <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asaCQOZpqUQ>

Please Don’t Leave Me <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eocCPDxKq1o>

According To You <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pu1aQvm5MrU>

How You Remind Me <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cQh1ccqu8M>

My Happy Ending <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-zDFLbWK1Q>

Nobody’s Home <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGFSNE18Ywc>

Bad Blood <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcIy9NiNbmo>

Cat And Mouse <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhjUq7YvF88>

Missing <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBSehQYRP5E>

Control <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so8V5dAli-Q>

The title comes from the line 'Do you remember how we started, the fairy tale got twisted and decayed' from McFly's 'Corrupted'

 

I also promised some headcanons that I couldn't fit into the actual fic, or things I thought about to fill out the back story to these characters, so here's those:

Sherlock used to tackle hug everybody he loved when he was a child, it stopped when Mycroft convinced him that he was a robot.

Mycroft regrets every cruel thing he ever said to Sherlock, especially when he saw how badly he had affected his brother’s mind.

Mummy has a scrapbook, filled with pictures of the Holmes family through the years. The only photos where Sherlock is smiling, are the ones where he’s either with Victor or Redbeard.

Mycroft started to realise that Sherlock was incredibly intelligent when he beat Daddy at a game of chess, aged five, without any guidance on how to play the game.

Mycroft’s favourite childhood memories include playing chess against his brother. His absolute favourite is when Sherlock climbed into his lap and he and Mycroft played together against Mummy and Daddy...and won.

Sherlock once went an entire month without speaking while at school, nobody noticed, or cared for that matter.

Sherlock had an entire dorm to himself at boarding school, as his parents thought it would be best for him to have a lot of privacy. Instead, all it did was isolate him further from his peers, and left him with absolutely no-one to talk to.

Mummy and Daddy sent Sherlock off to all manner of after school activity clubs. He was taught martial arts, horse riding, archery, and how to dance. They did it to try to get him socialised so he could make friends, Sherlock didn't make friends with anyone, until he met Victor.

Sherlock hated all the classes, because they were noisy, people were unpredictable, and the tutors all treated him like he was stupid. He did, admittedly, like how the combat training gave him a way to let out his frustration at the world. He enjoyed dancing simply because it felt freeing to move.

Sherlock used to love dance so much, that he practiced every day in his dorm room. But he was eventually caught by his class mates, and he was mocked so much that he gave it up. It took Victor years to convince him to take it back up again.

Victor went on one more mission for MI5 after he got back with Sherlock, but decided that it really wasn't for him, and that he’d much rather to be in London with Sherlock. His boss understood, but kept him and Sherlock on as consultants indefinitely.

Victor bought Sherlock a dog before he left for that one last mission. It was a black Labrador, Sherlock adored her, and took her everywhere with him, including crime scenes.

Anderson and Donovan mysteriously disappeared after Victor came back, both transferred to Scotland and Ireland. Sherlock always knew it was Mycroft trying to make amends in useful ways, but he never confronted him about it, because he understood the intention behind it.

It took two years before Sherlock could stand to have a conversation with Mycroft, and a further five before he could actually spend time with him. Mycroft didn't force the issue, and while it hurt greatly to be separated from his brother like that, he accepted that he had brought it all on himself.

While Mycroft didn’t force Sherlock to talk to him, he still looked out for him, and resisted interfering as much as he could. It was the hardest thing Mycroft had ever done.

John never saw sunlight again, and didn't see another person for the rest of his life. He never learnt his lesson, but slowly lost his mind in his cell. 

Mrs Hudson figured out that Sherlock had Aspergers within days of meeting him, she never spoke to him about him, or let on that she knew, but always made sure to keep things he found comforting in the flats, just in case.

Sherlock and Victor continued to have gatherings at the flat, and eventually, Sherlock started dancing again in front of them. He even danced at the reception of Lestrade's second wedding. 

Sherlock took a while to stop flinching whenever he thought someone was angry with him, it broke Victor's heart. Victor made it his mission to restore Sherlock's trust in people, and was very successful.

Mummy and Daddy were horrified at what Mycroft had done, and gave him hell for what he had done. It took years for him to work his way back into his parents good books. 

Sherlock had never been happier, than his was with Victor. He never got over John and Mycroft's betrayal, but with the help of Victor, he regained his confidence, learnt to be himself without hesitance, and most importantly, he learnt how to not be afraid of who he was. 

 

My next fic is called The Sectioned Detective, and I'll be posting it sometime between now and next Monday, if you want to check it out!


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